Wings of the Morning
by mkim57
Summary: This story is part two to my story A Little Lower Than The Angels Tried to make myself finish this one before I posted and it just didnt work for me...sorry guys, I gotta be me. I apologize for making you wait so long, bear with me!UPDATE August 3rd!
1. Chapter 1

Wings of the Morning

A Little Lower Than the Angels Part II

Chapter 1

Disclaimers: I don't own any of the JAG characters. I don't own any product or label mentioned for the purposes of telling this story. Any similarities to situations or persons living or dead are purely coincidental.

Spoilers: Any JAG episode up to and including A Tangled Webb II in Season 9.

A/N: Many thanks to Jaggiegold for her help with proofing this story.

_Where can I go from Your Spirit?_

_Or where can I flee from Your presence?_

_If I ascend into heaven, You are there._

_If I make my bed in hell, behold You are there._

_If I take the wings of the morning, _

_And dwell in the uttermost parts of the seas,_

_Even there Your hand shall lead me_

_And Your right hand hold me._

_If I say 'surely the darkness shall fall on me,' _

_Even the night shall be light about me:_

_Indeed the darkness shall not hide from You._

_But the night shines as the day:_

_The darkness and the light are both alike to You._

Psalms 139, verse 7 through 12. (NKJV)

1430(Naples time)

Sunday

May 22, 2003

Naples, Italy

AJ watched the traffic out of the window of the taxi, seeing very little that he recognized. It seemed an age since he'd been in Naples, and certainly much too long since he'd seen his daughter. He had checked into a hotel late last night, near the heart of the city. As the taxi approached the edge of the city, it began to ascend a steep hill. Now he was beginning to see something familiar to him, the street and the wall surrounding the villa of his former father-in- law. He instructed the driver to stop just outside the gate of the residence. He paid the driver and looked back toward the decades old, but well kept, home of the former mayor of Naples.

The formal gardens, that included a beautifully detailed stone fountain at its center, could be seen from where he stood. A well manicured lawn and shrubbery with a wide drive that led to the front of the house.

The house itself was also as he remembered, white smooth stone, with a terracotta tile roof. The front door was framed in stone nearly the same color as the tile on the roof. On each side of the front façade of the home, high above the front entrance, were two small but ornate wrought iron balconies with their tall glass and wooden doors closed. AJ had dreamed, many times, of his Marcella standing at one them…waiting for him.

As he stepped inside the gate of the park-like grounds, he remembered how nervous he'd been the first time he'd visited this place. He'd come to ask Marcella's father for his permission to date his daughter. A courtesy he'd never have bothered with for anyone but Marcella. She was raised in what she called 'the old way.' Her father's word was law, without question, and no one was allowed to spend time with his daughter without his permission. AJ Chegwidden had fallen in love with Marcella at first sight and being young and full of himself, he would have faced the devil himself to be alone with Marcella for one hour.

Little did he know it would be months before the old man would allow Marcella to see him, unchaperoned.

"Papa!"

AJ heard his daughter's voice and began to walk the long drive that led to the main house of the villa.

"Francesca?"

His daughter was standing in front of the huge wooden door and when he spoke she walked out to meet him.

Marcella was upstairs in the nursery with Alberto and had heard Francesca call out. She heard AJ answer her but she couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. She glanced down at her sleeping grandson, and then opened the doors leading to one of the front balconies.

As Marcella stepped out, she saw her former husband walking up the path toward the house. She stood motionless as she watched her daughter walk into her fathers embrace. She covered her mouth with her hand, the sight nearly taking her breath away. "AJ," she spoke his name aloud. It was AJ, he had finally come. She braced her hands on the wrought iron frame of the balcony. Both Francesca and AJ turned toward the house arm in arm, smiling and laughing, immediately comfortable in each others company. It was a vision Marcella had dreamed of for so many years.

Marcella had just begun to regain her composure as they approached the house, when AJ suddenly stopped and looked up in her direction, as though he had sensed her there.

Hundreds of memories, moments of love and pain, joy and sorrow passed between them as they truly looked at one another for the first time in many years.

He said nothing at first until he realized his daughter was watching him intently.

"What is it, Papa?" Francesca asked innocently.

He glanced up at Marcella, and then back at her, "I…didn't realize your mother would be visiting you as well."

"I'm sorry, I asked Mama to help this weekend. I have return to my work and had to travel to Milan overnight." Francesca turned away hoping she wouldn't give away her surprise and prayed her mother would not be angry with her for keeping her father's visit a secret.

They both walked into the house into the huge foyer with its marble floors and soaring ceilings, complete with a winding stair case. The home was open, with arched entryways that led to separate sections of the home. The walls had been painted in soft hues of yellow or brown. Though the home was formal and aristocratic in its front entrance…stepping inside made AJ feel a strong sense of the familiar…of coming home.

"Why did you not bring your luggage?"

"I didn't want you to go to any trouble on my account, daughter."

Francesca frowned and shook her head slightly.

"I wasn't sure you'd want me to stay, especially since you have someone in your life, I wasn't sure how you wanted to divide your time. I thought the hotel would be best. "

"You must stay here, Papa. How else will you have time to know him?"

AJ turned to face his daughter. "I do want to get to know him. Anyone who is important to you is important to me, but I was rather hoping we could spend some time, just you and I."

"Remember, Papa, this is not a time to make up for the past and besides, I'm afraid Alberto and I, we are…what is the word…inseparable?" Francesca averted her gaze, but could not keep the smile from her face.

AJ crossed his arms in front of his chest, trying to understand, but feeling totally at a loss. "Alberto? Is he the person you wanted me to meet?"

Francesca placed her hand on his folded arms, "Yes, Papa, at last you will meet him."

"Is he here now?" AJ's heart sank; it was beginning to sound as though he wouldn't have a minute alone with her.

Marcella's voice caused him to turn toward her at the top of the stair case. "Yes, AJ, he is here. He is your grandson….Alberto."

AJ felt as though his feet had been riveted into the floor. He stared as Marcella walked gracefully down the staircase, with a beautiful brown eyed baby boy, who like his grandfather, didn't have a hair on his head.

When he found his voice, he said, "But I thought….that is, I assumed that you were..."

"Forgive me, Papa, I wanted to tell you of your grandson but it was important that I know you came for me. Forgive my deception…there is no one. I hoped, but I wasn't sure you would come." She placed her hand on his arm, trying to put him at ease.

"Francesca." He looked at his daughter and then as Marcella approached him he could not help staring at his grandson in wonder. "I would have come, I wanted to come…I don't know what to say, he's...Francesca… he's…he's"

His grandson looked at him curiously, patiently waiting as AJ stumbled through this conversation. AJ just couldn't express what he felt. He was absolutely thrilled and at the same time totally humbled by the existence of this child. He hadn't even considered the possibility of being able to know Francesca's children. It was a privilege he didn't think he'd ever have.

Marcella, strangely, felt her connection to AJ as strongly as ever and immediately said what he had no words to day. "He is a gift, AJ, take him."

AJ stopped trying to explain his feelings when he heard her words, they were simple but right on target. He reached for his grandson who gave him a smile that matched his own as he leaned toward him.

Alberto did not cry, as most children his age would have, upon being held by a complete stranger. He was content to be lifted into the solid strength that was his grandfather, AJ Chegwidden.

0915

Monday

May 23, 2003

JAG Headquarters

Falls Church, Virginia

Mac sat at her desk, perusing the case file that she had just been given at staff call. She was to travel to Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. She was to conduct an article 32 investigation of a possible murder. She would be required to leave later this morning for North Carolina. She had barely had time to unpack from being in Norfolk last week, now she was going to be at Lejuene for another week.

Harm knocked on the frame of her open door. "Hey, when do you leave?"

"I have to be at Andrews very shortly. I'm getting ready to leave within the hour."

Harm didn't answer her; he just looked a bit wistful, wondering why he ever thought they might spend too much time together, since they'd begun seeing each other and worked in the same office at JAG.

"Harm, we knew we wouldn't get to work together once it was common knowledge that we were seeing each other."

"I know, I expected that…I just thought we'd get to be in the same state for more than a few days at a time."

Mac gave him an easy smile, thinking that she liked seeing this side of him. He was making it no secret; he didn't like the idea of being away from her. She fully intended to go, but it was very nice to know that she was going to be missed.

"What are you smiling about?"

"Oh…Nothing, I'll miss you too…you know."

"Stop by my office before you go; I'll walk you out…okay?" He stepped out of her office and toward his own.

Mac looked back down at her case file. This case was going to be a real peach, she thought sarcastically. "Staff Sergeant Joseph Rollins," she read aloud, "Hit and run, believed to be the result of a domestic disturbance, the Sergeant's wife is suspected to have some involvement, 10 year old daughter, Carrie is missing…just great." Mac hoped the little girl had just run away, she didn't want to deal with a double murder, especially if it involved a child.

_30 minutes later….._

Harm and Mac walked toward her corvette. Harm had been quiet all the way down the elevator. Mac didn't ask what was happening; she was trying to focus on what she had to do. Mac opened her trunk and placed her briefcase inside, her always packed sea bag; lay in the trunk beside it.

Harm followed her to the driver's side and opened her door for her, allowing her to slip inside. Harm knelt down inside the open car door and reached across for her seat belt. Mac was watching him, his still solemn face so close to hers. After he buckled her in, he made a pretense of straightening the belt across her lap and then, without a warning, kissed her deeply but quickly.

The kiss was short, but it still left Mac breathless. "Harm" She said it urgently, trying to sound as though she didn't want him to kiss her, and not quite pulling it off.

Harm closed her door and then knelt back down so that he was eye level with her. "You liked it…. don't lie." His eyes were showing their mischievous light as he looked at her, from under his cover. "I just wanted to give you something to remember while you're gone."

Mac looked back at him and started her car. "That's never been a problem Harm."

He stood and stepped back so that Mac could back out and pull out of the parking lot. As he watched her leave, his smile left him again. He didn't tell her, but he was worried, he'd heard the description of the case. He knew Mac's father would haunt her on this one, as he had on many other cases similar to this one. He also knew that her nightmares were still robbing her of her sleep. Dealing with a domestic case like this would only amplify what she was already dealing with. Lately, she'd stopped acknowledging the nightmares the next morning. She'd always allow him to comfort her, during the night, and then the next morning it was as though they had never happened.

He hoped this case would be resolved quickly and that she would return home.

Wednesday

May 25, 2003

Naples Italy

Marcella Paretti walked through the, now quiet, home that she grew up in; she was surprised and pleased that her daughter decided to reside here, instead of her apartment in Milan, after the birth of her baby. She had gone into the city, to shop for the makings of a dinner she was going to prepare for her father tonight. She stayed at the villa, after Francesca pleaded with her to stay, saying that if Marcella stayed, she, could be free to show her father her favorite places in the city. Francesca reasoned that taking the baby on a long sight seeing trip might be too much for him and she wanted everything to be perfect while her father was visiting.

Marcella didn't dispute her but she also knew that Francesca was living a childhood fantasy. The dream many children of divorce have, no matter how old they are, the dream of having their parents reconciled, to act as though they were at least friends. They had become friends again, in this visit, and it had been surprisingly easy when the focus was the grandchild that they both loved so much.

As she ascended the stairs, she smiled as she thought of the report AJ already had with his grandson. He would be spoiled when AJ returned to America; he hardly allowed them to put him down for a nap or to play. She hoped AJ had allowed him a nap this afternoon. She walked into the nursery to find his grandfather sleeping as he held him. A book lay on the table near the large and comfortable chair. She smiled as she remembered AJ as her husband, trying to read the same book to his daughter. He read it in 'his' Italian with a very decided American accent. AJ had diligently learned the language but could never quite get the accent. His dark good looks and brown eyes, would cause some to mistake him for an Italian… until he spoke.

Marcella walked across the room and sat in the rocking chair nearest AJ and studied her ex husband. He had aged well, but then, she had always known he would. It amazed her that the sight of him could still touch her so deeply. She remembered how she loved him when they were newlyweds. In those days, she didn't believe there was another man to match him in the world. He was handsome, strong, and brave, and the most well read man she had ever met. She had sensed in him, a kindness and a good heart under his tough exterior. He was everything; she never believed anyone or anything could separate them.

When she came to America with him to begin their life together, her dreams quickly came to pieces around her. It was as though AJ had become another person, the loving and passionate man, with the easy smile, was now ill tempered and impatient. The man who seemed unable to keep from touching her when they were together could barely stand to have her touch his hand without his withdrawing it. She couldn't understand where the AJ she had married had gone. She missed him; she was so young in those days, she believed she could make him return.

When she wrote to her mother about it, her mother would respond and speak of it as though AJ were just in a bad temper and that it was her duty as his wife to try to help him, but Marcella was not equipped to handle what AJ was going through. She had been much loved and indulged by both of her parents, she wasn't mature enough to understand AJ's state of mind, and he was too proud and in too much pain to explain it to her.

Marcella's eyes had lost their focus as she had been looking at AJ, remembering their past. AJ awoke and startled her when he spoke to her.

"Sorry, I guess I fell asleep." He looked down at his sleeping grandson.

Marcella rose from her chair and carefully took the still sleeping Alberto from his arms. "It is alright." She looked into his eyes for just a moment. "You made a lovely picture."

AJ did not answer; he only followed her as she walked to Alberto's crib.

After Marcella covered the baby, she stepped back from the child and when she looked at AJ again, she saw that he was remembering another time. It was an incident that caused her to leave him and come home to her mother in Italy.

"It was a long time ago AJ."

"It was….but it changed everything."

"I was a child; I should never have run away."

"I was too harsh….I expected you to understand things…that I didn't understand myself."

"Can you tell me now?" She turned her body so that she stood directly in front of him, her hands clasped, almost in supplication.

AJ shook his head and as he remembered, he told her.

"That night….when I was standing beside Francesca's crib, watching her sleep, I was thinking about the peace she had as she slept, the safety…I wanted to keep her safe."

"You were not sleeping well back then yourself, AJ."

"No…I wasn't." He had come into his daughter's nursery that night to check on her after a particularly bad nightmare.

"It seemed when I saw something, precious to me…like her…or like you, I would immediately remember something….I would think about how fragile you both were, about how easily someone could hurt you…..as I had seen so many of my friends…people who helped us…hurt….in Vietnam."

"But we weren't in Vietnam, AJ."

He looked directly at her. "I was…at least, I was in my nightmares."

"Why did you look at me with such hatred…I have never forgotten, I could barely recognize you." The expression on his face, the sight of it, had never left her.

"I had just been thinking that I would never allow anyone to hurt Francesca…and what I would do to anyone who ever tried…and when you came up upon me suddenly, I just reacted, I didn't see you…I saw…"

"Your enemy….you were still…as you said…in Vietnam."

"Yes." He searched her face, hoping to find forgiveness, if nothing else.

"I shouldn't have run away…"

"I should have tried to explain."

As AJ and Marcella tried to build a bridge across the years, Francesca stood in the hallway and leaned against the wall. She had hoped that this would happen, that her mother and father would finally open their hearts to each other. Their visit had been cordial, beginning with her mother and father being almost painfully polite at times, but Francesca could feel it, the love her parents had for each other…still. Their conversations became easier as they turned them toward the baby, and remembered, together, Francesca when she was small.

Inside the nursery Marcella stepped closer to AJ, her eyes taking in every nuance, looking for the answer before she asked the question. "Do you remember what you said to me? The words you said, the last time we were alone?"

AJ had told her that he'd never stopped loving her; if her husband had not come into the room, he wasn't sure what would have happened. "You know… I do."

Marcella now stood in front of him and placed her hand on his cheek. "I, my darling AJ, have never stopped…loving you."

AJ loosened the tight grip he held on his folded arms, reaching for her and opening a door in his heart that he believed to be forever closed.

'Marcella." He whispered, and took her into his arms.

1645

May 26, 2003

Thursday

Camp Lejuene LSO

North Carolina

Mac paced back and forth in the small and seemingly airless room that served as her office over the past week. The heat of the day felt as though it was at its peak and her office here had no air conditioning. She was expecting Staff Sergeant Rollins widow at any moment. This case had been more difficult than she imagined, with more twists and turns than she ever expected.

Mrs. Rollins confessed to her upon her first interview with her, nearly before she had a chance to ask her a question. She told the Colonel that she had been fighting with her husband I front of their house and that she pushed him into the road, in front of an on-coming car. Neighbors had corroborated her story; they said they saw her chasing her husband as he ran out of their front door.

She interviewed all of the staff sergeant's coworkers, in addition to people who worked for him in the past year. Nothing, with regard to any of them, raised any suspicion to her mind.

The woman was small; she didn't appear to weigh more than 100 pounds, why would her husband, a Marine, be running from her? There was something about this confession that didn't ring true; Mac couldn't quite put her finger on it. It was too easily given, and then there was Mrs. Rollins' demeanor when she spoke of her daughter. When questioned, Mrs. Rollins would only cry and say that she hoped that her daughter got away. She would never look at Mac directly, something that was irritating Mac more every time she saw her.

This woman got under Mac's skin in a way she hadn't expected, she didn't feel any sympathy for her, she was angry at her. It was all Mac could do not to shake her and ask her, "Why didn't you protect yourself? Why didn't you protect your daughter? Where is she?"

Mac looked out of the small screened window of her even smaller office. The interview she had this morning had only left her with more questions.

She had just come from the base hospital, Carrie Rollins had been found, alive. When Mac went to the hospital to check on her condition, she had been warned by the doctors that the little girl didn't know that her father was dead. The doctors were waiting for her mother to arrive, feeling that hearing this from Mrs. Rollins would be better for the little girl. She would be fine, the doctors said, Carrie was dehydrated and had minor cuts and bruises, but other than that she was uninjured. She was asking for her mother and her father and asking that they be told that she was sorry that she ran away.

Up to this point Mac wasn't sure that Mrs. Rollins was telling the truth about not knowing where she was, but speaking with Carrie eliminated that question.

Mrs. Rollins arrived a few minutes later; she sat down in the chair in front of Mac's desk.

Mac began without preamble. "Your daughter has been found."

Mrs. Rollins looked up at her. "Is she alright…does she know?"

Mac frowned. "No, she doesn't…not yet. The doctors want to wait; they want you to tell her."

"Was she hurt?" The woman asked, shame still keeping her from meeting Mac's gaze directly.

"No, not really, but she is dehydrated and she has some minor cuts." Mac waited a moment, to get her anger under control. Why hadn't this lady been moving heaven and earth to find her? Mac cleared her throat. "She's been sleeping in a park, near the base. It was a miracle she wasn't abducted…or worse."

"Thank God…thank God she's alright."

"Was your daughter at home when your husband was killed?"

"No…not really."

"Not really? Either she was there or she wasn't. Which is it Mrs. Rollins?"

Mrs. Rollins looked back down at her feet again, taking the same posture as almost every interview she'd had with her. Mac didn't understand the fury that raged through her own heart, as she looked at the woman's slumped shoulders.

"I guess I didn't know how far away…how far she'd run." Mrs. Rollins voice was small again.

"You realize, Mrs. Rollins, if you don't cooperate, or do something to defend yourself that you could be convicted of killing your husband, and then your daughter will have no one. She could become a ward of the state."

"I know, but …she can go with my mother." Mrs. Rollins still kept her head down, her unkempt hair hanging in clumps on each side of her pale face.

"You may not be able to decide that, the courts may decide that you aren't fit to choose who your child resides with, since you've confessed to murdering her father."

Mrs. Rollins looked up, suddenly terrified. "What?"

"The courts may decide that since you just snapped, as you've said, and pushed your husband out into the street, that you might not be the best person to make decisions about your daughter's welfare."

Mrs. Rollins face contorted in pain and she began to cry. The sound of it drilled through Mac. This woman was making her so angry, unreasonably angry. All Mac could see was a woman who hadn't protected her daughter…or herself.

"I can't tell you…I can't tell Carrie…she'll think…..What will she think?" Her red rimmed eyes continued to spill over with tears.

"Cant tell Carrie what Mrs. Rollins? Just tell me the truth, what happened that evening?"

Before Mac knew it, she was standing in front of Mrs. Rollins. She was still crying uncontrollably. "Mrs. Rollins!" Mac took hold of both of her arms but resisted the urge to shake her. "Tell me what happened!"

Mrs. Rollins stopped sobbing abruptly and Mac was shocked at her own behavior. She let go of her arms and stepped back. "I'm sorry."

Mrs. Rollins began calming herself, Mac had frightened her, but she knew she was right; she had to tell the truth, she couldn't allow her daughter to be taken away from everyone she knew and loved, no matter how responsible she felt.

"No, I'm sorry…I should have told you." Tears were still streaming down her face, but she had calmed considerably.

Mac stepped around her desk drew in a deep breath and sat down to listen.

"It was my fault, I….Joe...told me, see I forgot, his uniforms at the cleaners…I didn't pick them up..." Mrs. Rollins realized she was rambling. "I'm sorry. We were fighting, Joe was really mad. Carrie…she always tries to make things….better. She was afraid he'd…."

Mac nodded and pressed her lips tightly together, then finished the sentence for Mrs. Rollins. "Hit you?"

Mrs. Rollins nodded, "He never did….hit me. He always said I deserved it…but no, he didn't hit me. He just got so mad. Carrie would always try to distract him; you know…change the subject." Mrs. Rollins continued wiping the tears from her face with trembling hands.

"He'd been drinking…and I'd never seen him like that…he was calling me….bad names. Carrie heard, she came out of her room ….and she started crying and yelling at her father to stop, and he just turned on her. He looked so mad, like he could…I don't know, I told her to run and she did….." Mrs. Rollins had a far away look in her eye. "She ran out of the front door and Joe….he ran after her."

Mrs. Rollins sat still, as though she were seeing the situation happen all over again, in her minds eye.

After a few moments Mac asked, "And what happened then?"

She looked at Mac, "I was afraid he'd catch her and I ran after him, I tried to make him stop, I was able to get hold of his arm, and I stopped him…for a few minutes, but then, he threw me off. He ran toward the road, we live near the highway…I didn't even see the truck…he didn't…he ran into the street and…it hit him and then I don't remember anything else."

Mrs. Rollins was still crying quietly. "I shouldn't have told her to run."

"If you hadn't, he might have beaten her…or you." Mac's expression was stern.

"At least he would have been alive." The woman's voice was flat and devoid of hope.

"But you or your daughter might not be." Mac hid her disgust with Mrs. Rollins. She recognized the situation the woman found herself in, but she did not under- stand her.

This woman's concept of her own worth and the worth of her daughter had become twisted under the pressure of trying to measure up to a man who appeared never to have loved or respected either of them.

"You should go see your daughter."

Mac's voice was even and unemotional, but this case had laid her heart open. When Carrie Rollins learned what happened to her father, the world for her would never be the same. Mac remembered a day like that, the day her mother left her, alone with her drunken father. A little girl, who had no choice but to grow up, much too soon.

"I'll submit my final report to the Commandant, Mrs. Rollins. You and your daughter won't be questioned anymore in this matter."

Mrs. Rollins nodded, and stood to leave; she turned and looked at Mac. "I know you don't understand what it's like… he wasn't perfect, but he was my husband, I loved him."

Mac nodded but said only, "Good luck to you Mrs. Rollins, I'm sorry for your loss."

Mac knew she should have gone with her, the little girl deserved someone there who wasn't a complete basket case, but Mac also knew she was hanging onto her professional demeanor by a thread. She needed to get away from this case and this situation, fast.

_Approximately 36 hours later…._

Harm's apartment

North of Union Station.

Harm woke suddenly from a sound sleep and sensed someone in the apartment. He turned quickly and leaned up on one elbow, through the louvered glass he saw Mac standing near the row of windows in his living room, looking out at the early morning light.

Harm slipped out of bed and padded over to where she stood. Mac had heard him approach and she smiled as he slipped his arms around her waist from behind.

"Good morning, Sailor." She closed her arms over his.

"Mmm… Good morning to you. When did you get in?" His body was still warm from his bed as he pressed closer to her; his voice was deep and husky from sleep as he spoke into her ear.

"I came in late last night, I went to my apartment." Mac didn't want to explain that emotionally, she was in no shape to see him last night.

He nuzzled her neck and kissed it, she automatically turned toward him eager to feel his lips on hers, eager to push everything else away. "Why didn't you just come here?"

"I wanted to finish my report, get a shower and clear my head; besides, I didn't want to wake you." She thought she'd been successful in her plan, to rest up, put the case behind her and surprise him at breakfast….until the nightmares began.

Harm glanced at the clock on the wall; it was 0530 on Saturday morning. "What changed your mind?"

"I didn't really change my mind; I was going to let you sleep a little while longer." She loosened her embrace and looked down at his white boxers. "Oh…you're wearing my favorite…skivvies." She waggled her eyebrows.

He laughed, "You know you like them." He was kissing her neck, his body waking up as she slipped into that place she was beginning to believe was made just for her, in his arms.

"I didn't say I didn't like them…I said they were my favorite."

"It's all I wear, Mac." He said it between kisses against her lips.

"That's why they're my favorite." She drew in a breath and sighed

He'd never know how glad she was that he hadn't asked about the case or looked too closely at her tired eyes. She'd been able to distract him. She couldn't help smiling as she thought…

'Thank God for Harm's one track mind.'

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Wings of the Morning

Chapter 2

Disclaimers: I don't own any of the JAG characters; I don't own any product or label mentioned for the purposes of telling this story. Any similarities to situations or persons living or dead are purely coincidental.

Spoilers: Anything up to and including A Tangled Webb II in season 9 is fair game.

A/N: I'm working on this story every day now; I have the next chapter ¾ of the way finished. I hope you'll read along, I'll try to post as often as I can. For those of you who need a finished story before you begin, I completely understand.

A/N: Many thanks to jaggiegold for proofing for me.

0230

Sunday

May 29, 2003

Harm's Apartment

North of Unions Station

Harm lay on his side watching Mac as she slept fitfully beside him. He had been awake for nearly half an hour, debating with himself whether it would be wiser to just wake her or to let her wake on her own. She was exhausted from her assignment at Camp Lejeune. Now that Harm had a chance to really see her; the dark circles under her eyes were unmistakable. He had been right. The assignment had brought back all the old issues with her father.

He watched as Mac's face contorted with pain, and then suddenly she called out. "Wait…she's just a little girl….don't tell her…she's just..."

Mac sat up, still asleep, her body damp with sweat.

Harm leaned up and tried to gently calm her but she pulled away, still in her dream. "She's…just a little girl" She started to cry. "Just a girl…don't die….please talk to me…you have to tell me…why?"

"Mac…wake up, you're dreaming." He gently shook her arm. "Mac..."

Mac drew in a deep breath and pulled away. "No…you have to help me…I'm sorry…I was just a little girl."

She was still half asleep but she broke away from Harm and was across the room before he could reach for her. She began to cry again, this time so hard she could barely catch her breath.

Harm slipped out of bed, careful not to come too near her, but he spoke more firmly this time, her inability to come out of this nightmare was beginning to concern him more by the minute. "Mac…it's me, you're dreaming. Wake up now!"

Mac's whole body seemed to jar as she came fully awake. She saw Harm standing in front of her, and then remembered the nightmare. Somehow, her dreams had combined the Rollins case and her own life. She took a few calming breaths.

"I'm okay…I'm all right. It's just a nightmare…I'm all right." She walked away from him, wiping her tears away, still trying to calm herself down.

"Mac…what was it?" He followed her into the kitchen

"It's nothing…the case was just difficult, but its okay, I'm okay."

Harm took her into his arms. "I know we agreed not to push each other, but your nightmares are getting more and more frequent and you look as though you barely slept the whole time you were at Camp Lejeune." He kissed her hair. "Cant you talk about this at all?"

Mac silently shook her head, she didn't want to, she didn't know if she could do it, without falling apart all together. She thought if she did that, she'd never be rid of Commander McCool.

"Do you talk to your therapist about this?"

"Not really...I just don't want to go there with her, she's asked about them…I've had nightmares before…they pass."

He stroked her back, trying to comfort her but still pressed her further, "They're getting worse Mac…not better."

"I keep thinking…if I give myself a little more time...I can get back to normal."

Mac leaned back, and kissed his chin. "I'm okay Sailor, really. I sorry I woke you."

Harm kissed her quickly and hugged her close again.

Mac smiled secretly and curved her leg around his, pulling their bodies even more closely together.

Harm drew in a breath at the intimate contact, but then teased her, whispering into her ear. "Hey now…you're not trying to distract me….are you?"

Looking up into his eyes she answered, "Oh…I might be."

She kissed him and when she looked at him again, she caught what she thought might be a bit of hurt in his eyes.

Mac's mood changed immediately. "Harm, we said we wouldn't push…you said we didn't have to talk about anything that we didn't want to."

"I know. I just want you to know, you can talk to me." His hands stroked her back and his voice was full of concern. "I really want to help and you're in pain… I can feel it."

Harm's words only brought everything she felt back to the surface again.

"Tell me Mac; even if you don't tell your counselor, you have to get what ever is hurting you out."

"Why are you pushing this so hard?" She felt her throat constrict as she tried to rein in her emotions.

"Mac… I know you're a strong person, I know you're self sufficient, a professional…all of that. But now you need help." He averted his eyes from hers and lowered his voice. "I want to be the one you trust…I want you to need…me."

His words penetrated the self protective walls that she had fashioned over the years when it came to this, and made them crumble. She pulled him close, resting her head against his chest, listening to his deep, calm and reassuring voice, along with his strong and steady heartbeat.

"You know I want the best for you, don't you? I'm not competing with you. You're suffering Mac; you were before you left for Lejuene, now it's gotten worse." He kissed her hair, "Talk to me…let me help, that's all I'm asking"

Mac whispered, "Okay," against his chest. He deserved her trust; she knew that. It seemed almost from the day she met him, he'd been trying to get inside her head. She knew that now, this was different. They were not the competitors they had been when they first met, and over the years they'd at least, been friends at JAG. As she stood there in the darkened room holding on to Harm, that period of time seemed a million years ago. Harm's voice broke into her reverie.

"Ah, there is one thing we have to do before we talk about this"

Mac looked up at him, a bit wary. "What?"

"We need to get back in bed, or put on something warmer than this" He looked down at his boxer shorts. "….and coffee…coffee sounds good. I'm freezing."

The comical look on his face made Mac laugh and she laughed louder, as Harm gingerly stole across the room to adjust the temperature of the air conditioning. As in the past, Harm's own brand of humor helped her laugh in the midst of a very difficult situation.

0845(Naples time)

Sunday

May 29 2003

Francesca's villa

Naples, Italy

AJ stood on the terrace at the back of the villa and looked out at the beautiful view of the Bay of Naples and Mount Vesuvius, beyond. He felt such a connection to this place, now, more than ever. After all, his daughter and his grandson were born here. Now he felt a part of this place too, but he also knew to confine himself to one place would be a difficult task. He wondered if he'd ever be able to do it. He started when he heard something behind him and then Marcella's voice...

"Did you sleep well AJ?"

He turned toward her, and a knowing smile spread slowly across his face. "I did."

She walked into his arms and he gathered her close, his voice low and suggestive. "I'd have slept better if you'd stayed last night."

Marcella blushed like a school girl. "I didn't want the children…to know."

She had come to him, after she thought everyone was asleep last night; somehow he'd known she would. The kiss they'd shared in Alberto's nursery had been interrupted by Francesca, but later that evening, Marcella appeared at the door of his room. Without a word, slipped into his arms and they'd made love as though they'd never been apart.

AJ gave her a sly grin, "I don't think Francesca's sensibilities would be offended and I know for a fact that Alberto doesn't care."

"Oh you" she pushed out of his arms, "Come…I want to show you something."

She took his hand and guided him to a corner of the less formal gardens, behind the old villa. It was a separate garden, enclosed inside a small but ornate stone fence. It was blooming with beautiful wild flowers along side the stately roses, and climbing vines near neatly trimmed shrubbery. And at the center a small plaque with the words 'Ruit Hora'

AJ translated the words aloud. "Time runs away," and gave Marcella a quizzical look.

"I placed the stone, with the words…because our time…ran away, too quickly." There was sadness in her eyes.

"It is a garden I started when we were first married, while you were away. I wanted my mother to have something, a remembrance…of me, so that she wouldn't be lonely for me when I went to America with you."

AJ released her hand, walked the path inside the small plot and looked around him, "It's unusual…a unique combination of…everything."

"It is…it was much like the rest of the area when I began…but then after I returned home, alone, with Francesca, I came out here to think of you. Everything new that I planted…was wild, so different from everything else….it was the way I saw you, in those days. I wanted to make it work, make it beautiful, even if we with all of our differences could not."

"It is beautiful Marcella and only you could have done it." She slipped back into his arms and AJ kissed her.

Marcella leaned back from him, her fingers lovingly stroking his face. "What will we do now? You have to return to America tomorrow…what will happen to what we have found together? Will you leave it behind? Was last night about remembering our old love, or making our love new?"

He gathered her into his arms again. "We weren't making our love new Marcella…for me, it's been as constant as the sun and the moon. I wasn't making love to a memory." He pulled her more tightly to him, making her face flush warm with embarrassment. "and you weren't either." He leaned back from her for a moment and gave her countenance an assessing look. He tipped her chin up and asked, "What do you want, Marcella…truly?"

"I only know I never want to lose you; I'm not that childish girl you married, all those years ago. I am the woman who loves you, who refuses to break her own heart to have her own way."

AJ was touched deeply by her frank and honest answer. He placed his palm on her cheek and whispered her name. "You'll never lose me again, I swear it. I promise if you will allow me back into your life, you'll never have reason to be afraid of me, or doubt that I love you, ever again." He gathered her back into his arms and hugged her tightly to him.

Over her shoulder he said,

"I have to go back…at least for a while. I have turned in my resignation, but my position at JAG is very important, I cannot just leave. I have to do my duty." He leaned back to study her expression, hoping she understood.

"I don't want to change that about you, I can wait…I have already waited a lifetime…and perhaps, I will come to you" she grinned sheepishly and looked into his eyes. "If I can stand to leave Alberto."

He looked up in the direction of his grandson's nursery window. "I think I can understand that…you could always bring him with you…and Francesca." He leaned down to kiss her. "To visit." A quick kiss. "Or to stay."

She broke their kiss with a smile. "What do you want to do AJ?" She decided to challenge him as well.

"I never want to loose you again. I want to accomplish my task at JAG and leave the men and women in my command ready to take the helm, after that…where ever we are, I want to be with you and be in Francesca and Alberto's lives. I never want to feel like an outsider with my own flesh and blood again."

Marcella tipped her head up as he leaned down, touching her forehead with his, "I think, my love, we finally understand each other."

0300

Sunday

Harm's Apartment

North of Union Station

Harm lay back, propped up on pillows; deciding that going back to bed would be warmer than getting dressed. Mac sat Indian style on her side of the bed, sipping from the coffee cup that she held in both hands. Harm placed his coffee cup on the night stand and started off, without preamble.

"So what happened down there?"

Mac stopped drinking her coffee and met his gaze directly. "The case, it turned out to be a domestic case, but definitely not what the convening authority suspected. On the surface, a Marine was killed. While he had a history of having difficulty with, shall we say, anger management, there were no records of police calls for domestic disturbances at his home. His wife confessed to me almost immediately that she killed him. His daughter had completely disappeared, the child's mother seemed unable to do or say anything about that situation, other than saying that she hoped she got away….nothing made sense to me….and the whole time…I'm so…irritated, with this woman I can barely stand to be in anywhere near her."

Harm was quiet for a moment then asked, "Did she remind you of your mother?"

"No." she said the word sharply, almost before Harm had finished his sentence. "I don't know…I don't think so…I just hated….her attitude, her demeanor…the defeat, in everything she said. She made me so angry at one point, I wanted to shake her…I almost did." She held up her finger and thumb indicating, "I was this close, before I realized what I was doing."

She shook her head, "I knew she was lying from the beginning and even after she told me that it had been an accident…I still felt….disgusted with her. Why would she blame herself, when it was clear her husband was the person who initiated the confrontation? Why would she allow herself to be taken from her daughter, when she was all Carrie had left?"

"Mac, everyone has let a case get to them at one time or another, you're bound to feel that way from time to time, it doesn't mean…"

Mac interrupted him, "Where was my professional bearing…my objectivity….the things that I have always been able to rely on?" She looked at Harm, her expression still showing the disbelief she felt at her actions.

"Mac…" Harm sat up and reached for her arm. "I think you're being too hard on yourself."

"I feel out of control Harm…and you know I hate that and I have to admit, you're right…it is getting worse."

"I know…and I know there's something else too." He leaned back and folded his arms across his bare chest. "When you were trying to wake from your nightmare, you said….she's just a little girl...then later, you said, I was just a little girl."

Mac looked back down at her coffee cup; she hadn't realized how much she'd said at the end of her nightmare.

"The little girl, she was just 10….she'd been sleeping on a park bench…hiding, from both of her parents. Her mother didn't even have the will, or presence of mind, to look for her." Mac sighed heavily and continued, "Apparently, her husband, while he was not physically abusive, was verbally abusive, a situation in which their daughter would evidently try to intervene, on a regular basis. In the incident that led to Staff Sergeant Rollins' death, he lost control and turned on his daughter. Mrs. Rollins was sure the abuse was going to become physical and told her daughter to run. She tried to keep her husband from pursuing her; she managed to delay him, but did not deter him. He ran into the busy thoroughfare near their home..."

Harm finished her sentence, "and was killed… it was an accident, not a homicide."

Mac nodded, "The little girl was found the morning that I was finally able to get the truth from Mrs. Rollins. She was taken to the base hospital. She had a few scratches, was a bit dehydrated, but other than that, she was fine. She didn't know her father was dead; she asked me to tell her mother and father that she was sorry that she got into the fight and that she ran away…Harm, I knew exactly what that little girl did and I know why.

I know she'll blame herself…and her mother is too weak to help her believe anything else."

Harm said her name softly as she spoke her heart. He knew how difficult this was for her.

"After she understood that I knew it was an accident…she was already wishing she'd never told her to run. Can you imagine? Mrs. Rollins actually wished her abusive husband had caught her daughter…. And beat her?"

Mac began to trace the top rim of her coffee cup with her finger, deep in thought as she spoke.

"Suddenly I was that little girl…trying to keep everyone happy…trying to keep my parents from fighting." Mac's eyes began to fill with tears. "Every time I think those feelings are dead and buried, then out of nowhere the memories and the pain are as sharp and fresh as when I was a little girl. It was so long ago. Months…years pass and I think I'm okay, then something…or someone brings it all back. How many times have I thought I had this under control?"

Mac was angry suddenly, "Why is this bothering me now, in addition to everything else. Why now, when I have every reason to be happy? There's nothing I can do about the past. I couldn't do anything…even when I went to see my father; at the end…there was nothing he could say."

"Didn't he try to explain it at all?"

"He slipped into a coma, just before I got there. He never even knew I was there."

"Mac, I'm so sorry."

"I totally lost it on him anyway. I was really terrible to him and the poor priest who was helping care for him. First of all, I walk in and can't seem to come out of the bathroom because I kept throwing up."

Harm reached for her hand, but she wasn't aware of it.

"Then when I did finally pull myself together enough to walk into the room and look at him, I nearly dragged him out of the bed, trying to shake him awake and make him talk to me."

She scoffed, "I scared the priest who ran the hospice so badly, he nearly made me leave."

"It must have been terrible, I wish you would have called me, I would have come… I told you that I would have." Harm remember that time; her demeanor when she spoke of it back then, gave away none of the pain she must have been feeling.

"I didn't want you to know, what my life was really like. You already knew too much about my messed up life."

Harm listened quietly but shook his head as though that couldn't be further from the truth.

Mac placed her coffee cup on the bedside table and rubbing her hands together, she looked at Harm and asked, "Why wasn't I enough?" The tears spilled from her eyes when she asked. "Why didn't they love me enough…Why didn't they try to make sure I was all right…what was missing from me, myself….that I wasn't worth it?"

Harm reached for Mac and pulled her into his arms. "It wasn't you Mac, you have to know that. I'm not trying to make excuses for them, but they both had a lot of problems….probably a long time before you were born, and you're not responsible for them."

"The priest gave me Dad's wallet, it had pictures of me, and newspaper clippings….he followed my career, all the way to JAG." Mac was still crying, but softly, as though the tears were slowly releasing something locked in her soul.

"I'm sure he was proud of you, Mac."

"Just not proud enough… not enough to say it… just once, or stand by me. Like my Mom...not enough to stay…I guess sometimes love isn't enough…for anyone."

Harm leaned back just far enough to look into her eyes. "Love is enough Mac; the only time love isn't enough…is when people give up…and I'm not giving up on you…ever."

Mac kissed him quickly and hugged him tightly to her. "I'm so glad I have you. What did I ever do to deserve you?"

Harm grinned broadly over her shoulder. "I am too. And hey, I could say the same thing. I think we both lucked out."

He leaned back onto his pillows, bringing her with him. "So….Are you going to talk to Commander McCool about this?'

"Yeah, I guess so, I know she'll think this probably ties in somehow, with PTSD, Paraguay, Bosnia…I'm not sure how, but I will talk to her about this…I'm sick of it…its like a weight that I've carried all my life…and I'm just so sick of it." Mac's speech was beginning to sound slurred with fatigue.

Harm smoothed her back and kissed her forehead and that gentle gesture, made Mac relax further into his arms, 'Bosnia?' he wondered, as he looked down and brushed a lock of hair back from her face. That was another question, for another day; she needed to sleep now. "Getting sleepy, Mackenzie?"

"Yeah…but don't think you're off the hook, Sailor. I want to talk to you… about your counseling…if I have to talk" She yawned hugely, "You do too."

"We'll see..." He hugged her close again, and in moments he felt her fall asleep against him. Harm's countenance drew into a frown as he thought of talking about his sessions with his counselor. Besides missing Mac, he had been able to think of nothing else all week. Captain Miles kept pushing a point, about Sergei. He asked Harm why he hadn't been upset about the existence of Sergei. Harm hadn't really allowed himself to dwell on it; he was just so glad to have a link to his father and proof that he had lived and was alive for all those years when Harm believed he was.

Now that he allowed him self to think of it, it was confusing; why was he traveling with Pitchka? If he was able to get to Svichevo, why didn't he keep trying to come home?

Captain Miles always kept a very professional demeanor when he spoke to him, but Harm knew, he was skeptical about how Sergei came to be and seemed to feel that his connection with him was unrealistic and might not be the best thing for him now.

Harm believed that couldn't be further from the truth.

_At that same moment many miles away…_

Sergei's apartment

Russia

Galina greeted her fiancée at the door of his apartment. Sergei swept her up into his arms and walked her backward into the tiny apartment. "Galina."

"Hello…I have missed you."

"It was a long day and longer night, but I am home now." He was just coming off of a 36 hour watch.

He kissed her. "What do you have for me, beautiful one?"

Galina smiled and kissed him back, when they were startled by a knock at their door.

He opened the door to find his cousin, Danechka Zuchov. Danechka was a young man nearly Sergei's age. He looked sad and very tired; he warily glanced side to side, as though he feared he was being followed before he stepped inside the apartment.

"Cousin?"

"I am sorry to come without notice, but I have something I must speak to you about."

Sergei invited him in to the apartment. He was aware that Danechka's father, his mother's brother had been very ill and that Danechka had been at the hospital on a death watch, for many days.

"May I speak with you alone, Sergei?" His cousin looked directly at Galina.

Galina was slightly miffed but leaned in to kiss her fiancée's cheek. "I will go out, and bring you breakfast, in an hour." She looked sharply at her fiancee's cousin.

Sergei smiled nervously, wondering what his cousin could want and also hoping his fiancée wouldn't be angry with him.

The two young men sat down at the kitchen table in the tiny apartment.

"My father has died"

"Cousin, I am so sorry."

The young man held up his hand. "He was sick for a very long time, as you know, but told no one. By the time he saw the doctor, it was too late. I was able to speak with him alone before he died and he made me swear to deliver to you, a letter. This letter was written long ago, and it is about your father, Harmon Rabb. He made me swear to tell no one and to give this to you as soon as I could. You must swear to tell no one as well, my cousin, for the secrets in this letter would surely cost our families their lives."

TBC

A/N: This is the point in the story in which we turn a very large corner. Lots of AU from here on, folks. I'm filling in a lot of blanks but also creating a bit of fanon instead of canon.(grin)


	3. Chapter 3

Wings of the Morning

Chapter 3

Disclaimers: I don't own any of the JAG characters; I don't own any product or label mentioned for the purposes of telling this story. Any similarities to situations or persons living or dead are purely coincidental.

Spoilers: Anything up to and including A Tangled Webb II in season 9. Specific episodes will be referenced, "The Stalker" in season three, "From Russia with Love" and "Gypsy Eyes" from season 4, and "Legacy I and II" from season 5.

A/N: I have taken some artistic license with this story, in that I do not have a working knowledge of the Russian language and, as such, my characters will speak to each other and in their correspondence in English.

A/N: This begins my AU part of the story, especially with the sequence of events in Svischevo. At least, this will address what most of us 'think' might have happened in Siberia, a lot of that was left to the imagination. As the story progresses, we will look in on the time Harm Senior spent in Russia and with Pitchta from at least, three different points of view. The first is contained in this chapter.

MANY many thanks to Jaggiegold for her encouragement and proofing.

Sunday evening

May 29, 2003

Sergei's apartment

Sergei saw that it was a long letter, and it surprised him to see that it was not written by his cousin's father, but by another brother of his mother, Mikhail Khukov, who had died when Sergei was just a baby. When he asked his cousin Danechka about this, he would only tell him to read the letter and to tell no one of its existence. After Danechka left his apartment, he sat down to read.

_I am Mikhail Zhukov and this is a true account of the events that began in the winter of the year 1980 on the Zhukov farm, in the province of Svischevo, Siberia. I write this in the hope that I will somehow honor the bravery of a man who, in the very short time that I knew him earned my deepest respect. He was a man who I came to honor, as a brother._

_The morning after a particularly severe snowstorm, my sister Pitchta came to me, asking my permission to rescue a dog she believed to have been injured in the snowstorm during the night. I told her that if the animal fell during the storm that it was surely dead by now. Pitchta would not be convinced; she swore she saw it move and begged me again to allow her to take the animal into our barn._

_I allowed this only because Pitchta had become a quiet and timid creature, and her love of animals seemed to be the only thing that brought her any happiness. Soviet soldiers had come to our farm the summer before and attacked her and since that time, she had become this changed girl. She had no dealings with anyone outside our family; she had reached a marriageable age, but her fear of strangers, especially men, left me without hope she would ever marry. My shame in not defending her from her attackers caused me to give her what she asked, more often than I should have. _

_I went with my sister out into the field, just outside our property because Pitchta would not leave the small plot that was our farm, alone. As we approached the animal it was clear that this was not an animal at all, but a man. We both stopped, fearing that one of the men who had attacked her, had tried to return. _

_I told Pitchta to return to the farm, that this man was likely dead, that he was probably a criminal who had escaped from prison and that I would bury him. As she started back to our home, the man called out; it was not a word…but a terrible sound of despair and desperation. Pitchta's heart broke open at the sound and started toward the man as he opened his eyes._

_I told her to go, that I would not allow this man to hurt her. These were brave words from me, a man who could probably have killed the nearly dead man, with a single blow of his fist. My sister seemed drawn to him and as she walked she told me this man was no criminal, that he was hurt and needed our help. I held out my arm to stop her but she evaded me and went to the man, whose eyes still seemed to be pleading with her. When she reached him, she began to murmur to him as though he were a child, brushing the snow from his face and hair, and then looked back at me in a way I had never seen._

_She would not be denied, and at that moment, Pitchta's timid spirit changed and her will became iron. She said we would not leave this poor man, demanding that I help her bring him back to our home, saying that even though there seemed to be no mercy for the innocent in Scvsichevo, this day, we would have mercy on this man. _

_My shame, once again, allowed Pitchta to have her way and I brought the man who I would, much later, come to know as Harmon Rabb, into my house._

_The man, besides being nearly frozen to death, seemed to have a bad sickness in his chest and from the look of him, was nearly starved. It took over a month for him to regain consciousness and when he did, he did not speak, though he would gesture to Pitchta at times, appearing to be grateful for my sisters help, but he did not utter a sound. They seemed to be two wounded creatures, who had a language all their own. Pitchta had nicknamed him, 'Tein Tein', her 'silent one'. He had a terrible injury to his leg that had caused him to limp. It appeared the bone had been broken many times, and had not healed properly. Pitchta tended to him, day and night, for in the beginning he was too weak to sit up. Weeks passed and Pitchta was able to help him begin to walk again. _

_After some months, Harmon Rabb was able to walk and began to help, as best he could, on our farm. He continued to gain strength and after he understood how we worked the land, he worked like two men, never complaining or asking for anything in return. When the warmer months came, he insisted on a room of his own in the barn, telling Pitchta, in his own way, that he had imposed on them enough._

_When he had been with us nearly a year, it was clear he and Pitchta were becoming close to each other. Pitchta loved him, this I knew almost from the beginning. Harmon Rabb cared for my sister, this I also knew, but his eyes did not have the fire that burns in the eyes of a lover. This concerned me for a long time; because I wanted to be sure my sister would have a husband who loved her and have many sons. Then my guilt reminded me that a fire in any man's eyes would be the last thing that my sister would be able to allow. She had seen much fire, in the eyes of the Soviet soldiers and they had hurt her. And so, this odd pairing of my sister and this quiet stranger may have been Providence and so I did not question it again. I believed Harmon Rabb had come to us, to stay._

_Another year passed and we were visited by soldiers from the garrison in our village. They were told of a tall man that was helping me work my farm. Since no one seemed to know where he had come from, the soldiers were sent to investigate. When they came I explained that this man was a distant cousin, who was badly injured in Afghanistan with leg and head injuries. I told them his injuries had left him lame and unable o speak, and that I was helping my family by allowing him to live with us and help me with the work of the farm. The men walked around him, pushed and taunted him, and he did not retaliate or make a sound. They looked at his injured leg, and though he had healed, the leg was still scarred very badly. Their inspection was aggressive and I am sure Harmon Rabb was in pain, but he remained silent. The only time I feared his discovery was when one of the soldiers went near Pitchta. If one of the older soldiers, who appeared to be in charge, had not told the dog of a man to stop, I know Harmon Rabb would have been discovered and killed at that moment. The soldiers left soon after, satisfied with what they had seen._

_As soon as they were out of sight, Pitchta was afraid; she said she knew they would come back. It was then that she told me Tein Tein's true name. She told me he was an American who had escaped the camps and that he had to get away or the soldiers would surely come and take him back, or worse. My sister, Harmon Rabb and I made a plan to get them both out of Siberia and eventually, they hoped, out of the country. First, they had to get to the Trans Siberian Railway. _

_We left the farm within the hour; I wanted to see them safely to Perm. I would tell the soldiers that I believed my cousin had stolen my sister away. I would explain my absence from the farm by saying that I had spent days searching for them._

_We traveled for two days and were deep in the Uchenskoya forest when four soldiers caught up with us. They saw Pitchta bathing in a stream near our encampment; when they approached her, showing the same evil intentions that they had in the past, she began to scream. When Harmon Rabb heard her cries for help, he went after them like a mad man. When I tried to stop him, saying this had happened before and that we did nothing, they would not kill her, or us. He looked at me with disgust, as though I were the scum of the earth. He broke away from me and killed three of the soldiers before a fourth one, killed him. My shame at my own behavior and the rage I felt toward the soldiers, gave me the strength of ten men. I went after the last of the men who had stolen my sister's happiness and killed a true friend. I killed the last one with my bare hands._

_I buried the dead soldiers and Harmon Rabb, deep in the taiga of Svischevo, where I knew Pitchta could not find him. She loved the man so, that I knew she would go to his grave and one visit to that spot that was seen by the wrong person would cost her her life. The soldiers were sure to have been reported missing and their mission, to find Harmon Rabb, had to be known to someone in the Soviet government._

_When Pitchta told me she was with child and that the father of her child, Harmon Rabb had a son in America, I decided that someday, I would tell Pitchta's son of his father's bravery and hope that somehow, he would find his American brother and together they would grant their father his dying wish. Harmon Rabb would finally go back to his homeland._

_I write this today to ensure that no matter what befalls me, that his sons would know of their father's bravery and that somehow, they would find each other. I placed this letter in the hands of my cousin, Danil Zhukov, whom I would trust with my life. He has sworn to me that when my nephew Sergei Zhukov comes of age, he will see that the letter reaches him. I pray this letter remains a secret, for no matter how the world changes, the secret police will not. It is my belief that the government would kill many to hide the knowledge of an American prisoner held in the camps of Siberia, no matter how many years pass. _

_I wish long life and many children for my nephews, the sons of Harmon Rabb._

_Mikhail Zhukov_

Sergei placed the letter down on the table except for the last page. The last page was a map to the place in the taiga, near Svischevo, where Mikhail Zhukov had buried his father. He decided at that moment he must try to find this place and when he knew he had found it, he would tell his brother; then, as he uncle had hoped, he would somehow see that his father's body would rest in his own homeland.

1630

Thursday

June 2, 2003

Commander McCool's office

National Naval Medical Center

Bethesda, Maryland

Mac sat in one of the two comfortable chairs that were situated in front of Commander McCool's desk.

"I think we've made significant progress this week. Colonel, I'm well aware this hasn't been an easy task, but you've borne it well…you should be proud."

"I don't feel proud, I feel raw and on the verge of tears all the time; I don't like that. It's as though revisiting that part of my life has drained everything out of me and taken my control with it."

"What you're feeling isn't uncommon and in time your control will come back. Are you having difficulty at work, keeping your emotions under control, I mean?"

"No…not since the incident I told you about at Camp Lejuene. I still don't understand why that caused it all to come back; it isn't as though I haven't dealt with situations similar to my own in the past."

"It might very well have been, your interviews with your client may have been the catalyst that allowed you to get to the bottom of what has been buried in your subconscious for years. Only about 11 of women actively serving in the military have been diagnosed with PTSD. Most of them, as is true with you, have had multiple traumas and in many cases, concurrent emotional and physical trauma over a period of years."

Mac looked up at her. "Concurrent? I have been through quite a few difficult situations but I am a Marine and conflict, the possibility of death…all of that, are part of the program."

"I'm referring to your life long before you came to be a Marine. There are studies that indicate that many women, not all, join the military to escape a disadvantageous environment."

Mac couldn't keep from smirking, "Disadvantageous? I suppose you could say that."

"Your childhood was less than ideal, Colonel."

"I'm sorry, I know you're being serious, I just never heard it put quite that way before. " She pressed her lips to a thin line, as she decided to address the part of this whole concept that bothered her. "I really have a hard time with people who blame their 'terrible childhood' for the stupid things they do, or use it as an excuse to treat people badly. I've always been proud that I didn't do that. I don't want to start doing that now."

"I'm not suggesting that, Colonel. Everyone reacts differently to trauma, mental and physical. Since the disorder is slow to show itself, you used your own well established coping mechanisms to handle the trauma. Your experience in Paraguay seems to have been the last straw in your ability to absorb the entire trauma you have endured in your life so far. In our research of PTSD, we've been able to learn that in many cases, once a person reaches their so called 'limit', the greater the trauma, the greater the chances of symptoms of PTSD being made apparent."

"So you're saying that I won't be able to handle any more difficult situations in my life because I've reached my limit? I'm a Marine; as long as I'm serving, the chances of my being exposed to traumatic situations are going to be pretty high."

"I believe if you will honestly address the problem, then you will be able to recognize the symptoms of the disorder and adjust accordingly. Make no mistake, Colonel Mackenzie, it is difficult, but it is doable…other women have."

"You're going to start with the support group again…aren't you? I thought you said I was making good progress? I don't see how a support group is going to help in this situation."

"I understand your feelings in this matter, Colonel, and I think I've come up with a solution for you." She picked up a book that lay on the top of her desk and handed it to Mac. It was titled "The Battle Within…Women and PTSD."

"I've been doing some reading on my own about PTSD; there's a lot of information on- line."

"I'm happy to hear that you're doing some research online, because I'm not only going to ask that you read. If you'll look inside the cover of the book, I've written a number of website addresses. They aren't official government sites, but these are women who have had combat experience and who suffer from PTSD, in a mild to moderate form. These sites serve as a group therapy session, online."

Mac opened the book and looked at the list of sites, surprised at the number of sites in existence.

"This may give you the anonymity that you seem to need, while helping you realize that you aren't the only one suffering from this. I can understand your feelings in the matter, but not talking about it and not addressing this problem can be very isolating. It may take you a while to contribute, but I think as you read many of the posts, you will see that you have more in common with many of these women than you think. Not only that, you may have something to say that will help someone else."

Mac still felt wary of the whole idea, even online; she didn't like exposing a part of her past that she had just begun to address with Commander McCool.

"Give it a try Colonel; we'll talk about it next week." She looked up at the clock on the wall, signaling the end of the session.

Commander McCool opened the door and said as Mac walked out of her office, "Good session, Colonel Mackenzie."

Mac nodded and for the first time, agreed with her counselor.

1830

Friday

June 3, 2003

Harm's Apartment

North of Union Station

Harm and Mac had decided that dinner 'in' was the best idea tonight. It had been a trying week for both of them and Harm wanted a chance to talk with Mac about a decision he'd made.

In their session the day before, Captain Miles made a suggestion and Harm decided that he would follow up on it. He suggested he talk to his mother about his counseling and also about the major issues that they had essentially smoothed over during his childhood and adolescence. They had never really talked about his father, not in the way they should have, and Sergei, though they did speak of him, was an awkward subject.

Harm also wanted to go because he would be going to Russia in August for Sergei's wedding; he wanted to talk to his mother about his father's letters. He needed them to prove Sergei was his brother. He had approached her on the subject before, but she always said that she wasn't ready. Captain Miles skepticism about Sergei being his brother, made Harm feel that much more determined to establish Sergei's Rabb connection, as a fact.

It would mean he'd be going away early tomorrow morning and returning late Sunday night. He knew he shouldn't bring Mac along, because this was too personal for his mother. His mother didn't really know her, yet, though Harm knew that she had wanted to meet her for some time. He hoped that one day soon, that they'd all be together and that someday his family would include Sergei.

As they finished cleaning up Mac walked up behind Harm and slipped her arms around his waist. She playfully peeked around his shoulder and asked, "So…do you want movies……or me?"

Harm pulled her around in front of him. "You….always, you." He kissed her. "I want to talk to you about something first…okay?"

Mac frowned, a bit puzzled, "Okay." He sounded entirely too serious, and she didn't want to be serious, just now. She'd looked forward to this night all day. She felt that she needed a diversion, to leave the intensity of the past week behind her. "If you promise we don't have to talk, all evening." She tucked herself into his arms and squeezed her arms around his waist. "I'm tired of serious…for now, okay?"

He smiled reassuringly at her. "Okay, I promise."

They sat down together on his couch; Mac sat facing him with her legs tucked beneath her. Harm took her hand.

"Do you remember when I told you that Captain Miles was skeptical about Sergei being my brother?"

Mac nodded as she absent-mindedly followed some of the thick veins on the back of his hand, following them up his arm and then began to stroke the underside of his forearm.

"I've been thinking about this…a lot, and its time…. to talk to Mom about it. I've been trying to get Dad's letters for over a year now…"

"For the DNA?" She stopped her ministrations for a moment. If the subject was his brother, he needed her full attention.

Harm nodded, "I need to talk to her about other things too, you know, I think it all ties in….about my Dad…and everything." He caressed her hand and enclosed it in both of his. "I think I want to go out there, by myself, just for the weekend. I'd be back by Sunday night."

"I think it's a great idea. I'm kind of surprised you didn't do this sooner."

He looked up at her, his expression full of gratitude. Why had he worried about her reaction? She was still supporting him, all the way.

"I know I'm way overdue for a visit; I don't even remember the last time I was in La Jolla. You're sure you don't mind?"

"Of course not, Harm. I'll miss you, but you need this." Mac let go of his hand and ran her fingertips through the short soft hair on the side of his head and back to the nape of his neck.

"Will you be here when I get back?"

Mac frowned at him, not quite understanding.

He smiled indulgently, "I mean here, in my apartment." He leaned in close and kissed her, and then with his lips just a breath away from hers, said, "I've always wanted to come home and find you in my bed."

Mac raised her eyebrows. "Really?"

"Well, maybe not 'always' but for a very long time." He pulled her body closer. "So will you?"

"Of course I will and I can't say I haven't had my own…I don't know, fantasies, about doing that too..."

"Really? You mean you fantasized about me?" A devilish grin was spreading slowly across his face.

Suddenly embarrassed, knowing he was never going to let her live that one down, Mac started to turn away from him.

"Oh, come on, Mac…tell me." He gently turned her back around to face him, and pulled her much closer to him, in the process.

"No." Oh, she loved it and hated it when he teased her. After all they'd been through together; he still had the ability to make her blush.

"Please…, tell me." He waggled his eyebrows at her, the laughter in his voice was barely concealed. "I'll be your slave."

She stopped and then matched his devilish expression. "Slave?"

"Well, maybe not slave…I have a plane to catch…really early tomorrow. So…I'll be your slave when I get back."

"Nope…you said slave; I don't recall hearing any kind of time frame in that offer."

Harm regained the upper hand. "I said I'd be your slave…if you told me about how you imagined my coming home to you, while you were waiting for me….in my bed." It never ceased to amaze him, how quickly just the thought of her wanting him, even in the past, left him unbelievably aroused.

Mac reached for the television controls on the coffee table. "So, what movie are we watching?"

Their old sense of competition was still in place, and when it came to this part of their lives, it made their banter sexier and much, much more fun.

"I didn't say I wanted a movie….I seem to remember being given a choice of you or a movie…and I chose…you" Harm took the TV controls from her hand and tossed them over the couch as he pulled her into his lap.

"Come on, baby; tell me….when did you start thinking about me…about being in my bed?" His voice took on a deep and seductive tone.

"Harm..." He skimmed his hands up both of her thighs and began to plant open mouthed kisses on her neck. "Hmmm, you're not playing fair."

"Haven't you heard, Mac…all is fair in love and war?" He murmured the words between kisses and he already knew, he was winning this battle…or so he thought.

"Okay." Mac drew in a deep breath as Harm pulled her more tightly to him. If I tell you…you have to tell me."

"Mmmm… sounds good to me….now, tell me." She would be much too busy to worry about what he had to say, he thought slyly, as he deftly slipped her t-shirt up and over her head.

"I want details." His eyes were a smoldering blue fire as he looked into her eyes. He traced the edge of the satiny cup of her bra to her shoulder and back down again.

"Uh, oh…kay. The first time…I really thought about it..." Just as she started to finish Harm kissed her chest, just above the swell of her breast. "Oh…if you want me to talk, you have to stop that."

"What's the matter, Mackenzie, can't you take it?" Desire and challenge were interfused in Harm's eyes. He loved playing with her this way, and he knew…that she loved it too.

Passion flared inside her, as she met his challenge, "Ohhh, I can take it..the first time, was…Russia"

Harm remembered the time and he could just about tell her when she might have felt that way. "Hmm, that was one tough night….I think you wore that white lace gown….just to mess with me." He traced her back with the tips of his fingers, as he planted warm kisses on her neck and further down….smiling to himself as Mac drew in her breath and tried to continue.

"It was all I could find while we were in Russia…I, oh…told you, I didn't wear pajamas."

Harm unhooked her bra. "Yeah…that was really easy to stop thinking about…for months afterward." Her bra fell from her shoulders, leaving her even more vulnerable to his warm mouth, so he took every advantage.

"Uh… stop it." Her hands were full of his hair, holding him to her, completely contradicting what she was asking him to do.

Harm's deep and totally self satisfied laughter rumbled up in his chest. He thought, Sarah Mackenzie, putty in his hands….he liked it.

His laughter was his first mistake, because it allowed Mac the few seconds of clarity she needed to decide, that he was not going to have his wicked way with her, yet; it was his turn to tell her 'his' story.

First though, it was time to light the flame that would make it as difficult for him to talk, as it had been for her….perhaps more so.

"I was awake most of the night thinking of just how much I wanted you to wake up…and walk over to the bed….and…." Mac stopped at the most critical moment and decided to wait and see how long it would take for him to notice.

Mac was silently enjoying all the work Harm was doing to make her lose her voice, even though he appeared not to be listening for it, just now. After about 32 seconds, he came up for air.

"And….?"

"Hmmm… what? I told you…now you have to tell me."

"Come on…you were just getting to the good stuff…tell me." He looked at her through a haze of longing, now that all this play was making it hard not to do anything she asked.

"Tell me first." She narrowed her gaze and placed both of his palms on each of her breasts. Mac arched her back, and heaved a sigh that Harm was sure was full of promise.

"Okay." Harm was breathing deep and made the fatal mistake of backing away from Mac, for just a moment.

Mac quickly straightened. "Good," and before Harm knew it, he was on his back.

Mac began to unbutton his shirt as she still sat atop him.

"Okay." He started to speak, but he couldn't help wondering about the look in Mac's eye; she was looking almost ravenous.

Mac seemed to sense his thoughts and said, "Don't worry, Sailor, I won't hurt you."

"Okay…to be honest, the first time…was." He wanted to talk fast, so he could get back to where he started, he would humor her, he decided. This was fun, and he wanted to see where she wanted to take him.

Mac leaned down and kissed him, a short but sensual kiss. Then she started kissing him, in a way that she knew he loved, she tasted his skin, trailing down the side of his neck to his collar bone. "Mmmmac, this is nice."

"Yes…it is…now, go on," she said as she closed her teeth, just slightly, into the open mouthed kiss, on his thickly muscled chest.

"Uh, it was skimmed her hands down his sides and kissed him again at the middle of his chest. "Uh..Mac..this is…very….nice."

She raised her head slightly and looked into his eyes. "Thank you….now go on."

"Um…where was I?" He couldn't think while all the blood in his brain was rushing south.

"Before Russia?"

"Oh…yeah…well, it was…."

Mac went still lower, to his well defined torso, kissing each of the well defined muscles in his six pack.

Harm drew in a breath and Mac lifted her head enough so that she could see the full-on desire in his face. She had him just where she wanted him. "It was?"

"You are having way too much fun with this."

"Oh, I am." Mac grinned at him slyly, "don't you think it's my turn?"

Without warning, she unbuckled his belt and she heard Harm say her name, in deep whisper. "Mmmac?"

"Hmmm? Are you asking a question…or making a request, Sailor?"

He thought he'd better say something soon, while he could still construct a sentence. "The first time was…when you…when Coster almost…when I took you home…I wanted you to go home with me. You were so beautiful that night."

His voice started to sound thicker, his story wasn't quite making sense. "So damn sexy... holding on to me. ….I knew I didn't have any right, I was still with…" 'Oh god,' Harm thought, 'who was he with then…what was her name? Nnnever mind…full speed ahead'…

"But…I'd never been so physically close to you…you needed me and…."

She undid the clasp of his pants and slowly unzipped them.

Harm watched her through his heavy lidded gaze, his voice had gotten lower, barely a whisper..."Your body...felt… so…good in my arms."

"Mmm Hmm… tell me more….I like this."

Mac reached inside the slit of his boxers. Her voice dropped one octave lower, "Tell me, Harm."

"I laid you down…in your bed and…" Harm sucked in his breath when she slipped her hand back. "Aw…baby, don't…tease me."

Mac frowned, feigning confusion. "What do you mean?"

"You're not playing fair." He was aching to feel her touch….her body…and she knew it

She leaned down close, so that he could feel her breath on him when she looked up at him; she moistened her lips with her tongue, making his whole body thrum with desire.

"Oh, Harm….I'm not playing….and besides, didn't you say…..all is fair in love and war?"

It was deep into the night before Harm and Mac called a truce….both parties admitting…after much deliberation…that in this particular battle…

They both won.

0830 (Russia time)

Saturday

June 3, 2003

Deep in the Uchenskoya Forest

Russia

Sergei looked down at the map he had been given by his cousin. He brought no one with him and only Galena knew where he was going, but she did not know the true reason. As much as he loved her, this secret was too dangerous to share with her. He told her that he wanted to visit the burial place of his mother in Svischevo, and that it was something he needed to do alone.

He walked along the path indicated on the map, into the thick green stand of trees that preceded the deeper part of the taiga. Sergei looked around him again, spooked by the feeling that he was being watched, but as he looked, he saw no one. There was nothing to do, but begin. He would find the place his father was buried, and somehow, he and Harm would see that his body was transported back to America. His father would rest in his homeland, he would return to the place he was never able to reach while he was alive.

_About 1 km away…._

A man wearing camouflage clothing and hidden from plain sight, observed the figure of Sergei Zhukov, through field glasses. He had been shadowing him for sometime, but his surveillance had been increased upon a report that Zuchov might be in possession of evidence that American POW's had been taken to Russia during the Vietnam War. This information was as dangerous as ever in the wrong hands, perhaps more so than in the past, as Russian and American relations didn't appear to be as close as was previously thought. The Russian government still adamantly denied any knowledge of Americans being held on Russian soil, but as long as a single Vietnam veteran lived, their word would be held in serious doubt.

He would follow him; he would also see the place where Harmon Rabb Senior was buried. What he had to do was for the good of all. The man set out to find the path on which Sergei walked, so that he could learn the secret that had been kept so long.

Killing Zhukov was an option, but too many people outside Russia knew what he believed; there had to be another way.

This secret that must stay a secret, no matter what the cost, in the short term; too much was at stake...

TBC

A/N: Much of my information came from the Department of Veterans Affairs website and also from articles published in Newsweek and the Chicago Tribune in May 2006.

A/N: The issue of Pitchta being attacked by Soviet soldiers was addressed in 'Gypsy Eyes' in the dream that had. So I made it part of Pitchta and Harm Sr.'s story.

A/N: The word 'taiga' is the Russian word for forest.

A/N: The name 'Tein Tein' is one I dreamed up on my own. I tried to write it the way I heard Pitchta say it in, 'Gypsy Eyes' It is purely subjective, I know, others may have heard it differently. Many months ago I spoke with a poster on one of the JAG boards who thought that the name sounded like a Russian expression for the word silent. So after this exchange my imagination about HR Seniors story has been percolating.

Make of it what you will. (grin)


	4. Chapter 4

Wings of the Morning

Chapter 4

Disclaimers: As previously stated.

Spoilers: Anything up to and including 'A Tangled Webb II' in season 9.

A/N: Many thanks to Jaggiegold for proofing for me while I'm in my present state. (Smile)

_If I ascend into heaven, You are there._

_If I make my bed in hell, behold You are there._

_If I take the wings of the morning, _

_And dwell in the uttermost parts of the seas,_

_Even there Your hand shall lead me_

_And your right hand hold me._

Saturday

June 3, 2003

Uchenskoyan Forest

Sergei had been walking for some time, the chill seeping through his light weight coat on this summer day. The taiga was becoming cooler as he walked further in and he was beginning to wonder if he had taken a wrong turn. His path was littered with an occasional ancient fallen tree and lined with Scots pine and black spruce, some growing so closely together that a man could not have passed through. He had long passed the larch and silver birch that served as an entrance to the deeper and darker parts of this other world, with trees never known to have been cut and a floor of nearly frozen green moss.

Looking down at the crudely drawn map, he wondered how he would ever find the place where his uncle had buried his father. If Sergei were to go much further into the taiga he would run the risk of losing himself completely.

His uncle had written a key at the bottom of the map, he wrote that he had covered the grave with heavy slate and granite stones, because the shallow ground would not allow a deeper grave. Mikhail Zhukov wrote that he had buried him behind a large slate and quartz rock formation. He said that the black slate stone was long and the width of his arms outspread. His uncle chose the place because the stone was unusual and its angle made it appear to have been placed on its end, much like a tombstone. He said the stone's height was that of a grown man and that it was marked with veins that were filled quartz and other stone that glittered like gold when the sun shone upon it.

Sergei stopped and looked around him. There had been over 20 years of forest growth since his uncle had drawn this map; finding his father's grave would be nearly impossible. Sergei left his own land marks and tried to recall some of the natural landmarks he had already passed. He looked up at the sky; the day was clear but the height and thickness of the trees made it difficult to judge the time of day by the sun. He looked at his watch, ready to give up his search for the day; thinking that perhaps he and Harm would try to do this, when he came for his wedding. Just as he started to turn around and head back, a glint of light caught his eye. He turned toward it and he saw what appeared to be black stone, covered in moss and sapling larch, with its young roping branches. He carefully walked over to it, brushing away the moss with his gloved hand. He saw the streaked quartz that looked to be inlaid into the naturally deep veins on the black stone. Sergei thought it looked as though they had been carved by hand and made to look like stars, falling from a dark night sky. The sight of it gave Sergei pause when he remembered what had begun his father on this journey, the long road that led him to his mother…and to this lonely grave.

His joy at finding this grave was short-lived and a profound sorrow covered him as he stepped around the stone. It was exactly as his uncle had described it. There were carefully placed granite and slate stones, in a circular pattern, covered with a thin layer of moss.

Sergei walked as near to the grave as the forests undergrowth would allow. He knelt down on one knee, lowered his head, and wept.

1845 (Pacific)

Saturday

June 4, 2003

Burnett residence

La Jolla, California

Trish Burnett watched her son as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He'd had something on his mind from the moment he'd arrived. As they sat on the stone patio with its spectacular view of the Pacific, she decided she'd waited long enough.

"Son, when are you going to tell me what's really on your mind?" His visit had been an unexpected pleasure, but she knew there was more to it than that. During dinner Harm kept glancing at the clock in the dining room. It had puzzled her at first, but now, she understood. He had something to say, and he felt as though he were running out of time to say it.

Harm stopped trying to adjust his position in his seat and grinned sheepishly. "I'm sorry Mom."

Harm leaned forward in his seat, clasping his hands together, unable to think of the right words to say that would help him make her understand that he wasn't trying to hurt her. He just needed her help.

In Trish's mind, this awkwardness could mean only one thing. Whatever it was that had him in this state, it was about Harmon.

"Just begin, darling….it's about your father, isn't it?"

Harm nodded.

"Yes, I need to talk to you, Mom…about a lot of things. I've uh…that is, the Admiral has ordered me to…."

"The Admiral ordered you to?" Trish frowned; this was not sounding the way she expected. "Are you in some kind of trouble? Is there a problem at JAG?"

"No...not now, I'm doing fine…at JAG. A lot of things happened in the last few months…I turned in my resignation."

Trish's face lost its color, "What?"

"Oh, I'm back…the Admiral reinstated me, but…he wouldn't let me come back until I agreed to some…things."

"What things?" Trish was still too stunned to ask why he'd resigned.

"He said that I had to agree to go to counseling…about Dad…and about how I handle…certain situations."

Trish finally found her question. "Why did you resign?'

"I… uh, had to find Mac…she'd agreed to assist on a covert mission; she and her… counterpart were lost, some thought they were dead. The Admiral would not agree to allow me to go…so I resigned."

Trish gave him a critical look, still feeling she wasn't hearing the whole story. "That doesn't sound like Admiral Chegwidden. Did he say why?"

"Yes…I'd been having some…difficulties…at work. He didn't think my career could take another...uh, complication."

It was beginning to hurt, that he didn't trust her enough to say what was on his mind without all this discomfort. She decided to cut to the chase. "What are you leaving out of this…story?"

With that statement, Harm was up and out of his chair; he walked over to the edge of the stone terrace and looked out to sea. He hated putting his mother in this situation; he really was here about Sergei, but he couldn't tell her about Sergei without telling her what a mess things were a couple of months ago. There was no easy way to say this.

"I was accused of murder….in April…" He looked around at her directly. "I was acquitted, but I did spend some time in the brig… a week."

"What? Why didn't you contact us? Frank and I would have been there on the first plane." She stood, and started toward him, the thought of Harm in a jail cell making her head spin.

"I...didn't want you to worry; I didn't really think I would be arrested. Everything happened…so fast; it just…spun out of control, almost before I knew it was happening."

"I can't imagine why anyone would accuse you. Where was Admiral Chegwidden while this was happening? What could you have done that would make anyone believe that you could ever do anything like that?" She was speaking before she knew what she was saying, her questions rapid fire.

"I…wasn't very forthcoming about…something I knew… a woman I worked with…was killed; we had a disagreement…a very public one. The victim... knew…Sergei..."

Trish could not keep the disgusted look from her face. "And you were afraid they would accuse him, so you thought it was your place to protect him."

"It was Mom…it is."

"No, Harm….it is not your place. Did Sergei kill her?" Her tone was sharp and biting; she was immediately very angry.

Harm looked at her in disbelief. "No! Of course not." How could she think something like that?

Trish had been trying to keep her true feelings about Sergei to herself. Knowing that spilling her anger out on Harm wouldn't serve anyone, but this was too much.

"Son, you risked your freedom…you could have risked your life, for him. You don't even know if he really is your brother…you just want to believe it. I don't understand why you insist on pushing this…on trying to make me accept this."

She turned away from him, shaking her head.

"You have the only means I have at my disposal to prove or disprove it." Harm knew in his heart that Sergei was his brother, but given the way his mother was reacting to this conversation, he thought he should offer an olive branch.

She whirled around and faced him, her face showing anger that Harm hadn't seen in a long time. "You cannot have them."

"Mom…" Where had all of this come from? She hadn't reacted this way when he told her about Sergei over 3 years ago; he didn't know what to say to her.

"No…. if you are set on proving this…idea…that Sergei Zhukov is your brother, then so be it, but you will not use the only things I still have from your father that are mine... his letters. I gave you his letter tapes...even the one that was meant for only me, but not my letters. You can't have them." She had been emotional when she began but as she finished her statement, her tone became firm and resolute. "If this is the only reason you've come, then you wasted your trip."

"Mom, it isn't the only reason." Harm was still dumbfounded by her reaction, his words seemed to come too slowly and she didn't seem to hear them.

Trish continued to walk into her house with Harm following close behind her. Harm hadn't expected this; he knew she had been reluctant when he spoke of the letters in the past, but this was something else entirely.

At that same moment…

Chegwidden Residence

MacLean, Virginia

AJ walked through his quiet house. Another day to go and then the weekend would be over. He turned some of his favorite music on and listened as it filtered through the house, glad to hear something besides his own footsteps on the floor.

He missed them. He missed his daughter's laughter, feeling the sleeping weight of his grandson against his chest, and he missed Marcella…everything about Marcella.

Without realizing what he had done, he found himself standing at his bedroom door, looking at his empty bed. Two nights with Marcella and now, he hated the idea of sleeping alone. It had been less than a month ago that he thought he'd live the rest of his life alone, and the thought didn't really pain him, he'd accepted it. For the first time in a long time, he saw a full and satisfying life after he left JAG. It was as though everything that had happened over the past month was fate bringing him back where he belonged.

Francesca was not a stranger to him. Those first days in Naples, when he was not with Alberto, he was with her. They were able to connect on a level he never thought possible.

There were some things she held back from him, one thing that AJ had to work very hard not to press her about. He wanted to know who the father of Francesca's child was, why didn't she marry him, or at least allow him to be in her life? If he had left her, and broken her heart, it was not obvious to him. When he had spoken to Marcella about it, she only said that, in this, she was like him. She hid her heart well and she only allowed a very few people into her confidence. Marcella believed that in time they would know, but she was so happy to have her grandson, that she would not press the issue. AJ realized he was in the same predicament, the argument that he knew would ensue was not worth it. He'd waited too long for this precious time with Francesca; nothing was worth jeopardizing that.

As AJ started back out of his bedroom his phone rang. He answered it, "Chegwidden."

"Papa?" Francesca said above the sound of her son, saying loudly, "Pa! Pa! Pa!"Alberto was tapping his fat little palm on the outer side of the receiver. "Ma! Pa!"

This was what he needed, to hear from the loves of his life. "Hello! What is that noise I'm hearing?"

Francesca laughed, "That noise is the grandson you have spoiled so badly he won't go to sleep without having a story read to him…sometimes he needs two."

"Nothing to worry about…it's good for him…it's good for you too," his voice automatically taking on a fatherly and authoritative tone.

Francesca sighed, "I know…we miss you, Papa."

"I miss you too, daughter." All his authority had just flown out the window and Francesca had him wrapped around her little finger.

1036

Sunday

United flight 1048

Somewhere over the Midwest

Harm reclined slightly in his first class seat. They'd been in the air for over 3 hours, and though it would have been smart to sleep, the events of the day before would not allow it.

_Burnett residence the night before…_

Trish had gone into her bedroom and closed the door. She would not come out of her room or speak to him for some time. Harm had spent most of the evening shaming himself for the way he approached the subject. It was awkward to say the least. Why couldn't he just talk to the people he loved and respected most. It was a miracle he and Mac had gotten together at all. All he ever seemed to do was put his foot in his mouth.

Around midnight, Harm was just finishing up a call to Mac, "Give her time, Harm; this is really hard for her. I can't imagine what it must be like for her."

I know, I just didn't say it the way I wanted to; I think I might have blown the whole thing."

"Give it time…maybe you can talk with her in the morning; maybe if she has time to think about this…."

"Thanks, Mac, I'm going to go. It's getting late here..."

"Okay…I miss you, you know."

Harm smiled. "I miss you."

"I'll see you at your place…remember?"

Harm chuckled, "Oh yeah, I remember. Bye"

He didn't hear Trish come back downstairs until he closed his cell phone. When he turned she startled him, his face coloring immediately considering what he'd just been thinking about.

"Mom?"

"I need to talk with you, son, I don't want you to go back to Washington and leave things this way."

Harm nodded his agreement, grateful for this chance to explain why he was asking this of his mother.

Seeing the relief on his face, Trish felt the need to warn him, "I haven't changed my mind; I'm not going to give you my letters, but I do have something that might help you." She reached into her pocket and took out a plain white envelope. On the outside was written, 'Harmon, age 2.'

She handed it to him. "This was sent to me, along with other personal letters that belonged to your grandmother. After she died and the estate was sold, she requested that your father's letters, their family pictures and..." She nodded toward the envelope, "this, be sent to me, along with everything else. It was to be given to you after you married and settled down."

Harm opened the unsealed envelope and carefully took out a thick chestnut brown curl.

"Your grandmother said it was from your father's first haircut." She folded her arms in front of her chest, holding on tightly and resisting the urge to take it back, to keep that part of him to herself as well, but she did not. Sarah Rabb wanted Harm to have this, and knowing this helped her do what she knew was right. But, no matter what anyone said, including her son, she would never give her letters up. When they were dating, she fell in love with him, reading his letters. After they married, his words carried her through the first two tours, during Vietnam and then for years afterward.

Harm looked up at his mother and saw how difficult this was for her. "I'm sorry, Mom, I didn't mean to hurt you, and I know this is hard…"

Trish nodded as she walked to the back of their house, toward the large windowed wall in their den. "I don't really think you do, son. I don't know if I could really explain it to anyone."

Harm silently followed her into the room. "What I had…what we had, your father and I, was something so…special." She looked back at him and smiled, "I know, everyone says that, but it was true with us. I knew no one, nothing would ever come between us."

"Mom,…I don't think Dad thought he would ever come home…"

Trish raised her hand, "Don't…Harm, just….don't."

To even mention the possibility of her husband loving anyone but her, even in the most indirect way…or the painful possibility that she had been the one who gave up first, when he loved her and stayed alive, so that he could return to them. She would never tell Harm about the nights she'd lain awake, after Harm told her about his belief that his father had been transferred to Russia. She couldn't stop wondering what his life must have been, in all those years.

Harm stopped, silent.

"I can't think of him that way…I know, when you told me about this the first time. I didn't tell you how I felt about this…maybe I was in a state of shock…I can't even remember what I said to you; I don't know. But after I had time to really think about it, I just can't think of him…that way. I can't."

"Mom.."

"Harm…it took a long time to let go…of the idea that he was still alive. You don't know what I went through. I tried to be strong, for your sake, to start over and make a good life for you. I thought I had but… your reaction…then you ran away to Vietnam. I nearly lost you both. I thought it was my fault that you ran, because I'd held on too tight. I thought if I did that somehow, I'd keep you with me longer, and never have the risk of losing you." She smiled without humor. "I only made you more determined to get away, and prove that I was wrong. Without a word, your actions told me I'd betrayed you…and your father.

"I don't think that now, Mom, I don't. I know I didn't make it easy for you back then. I'm sorry for that…. I really am."

She turned and studied his face, still struck by how much he was like his father.

"I know you were just a child Harm. As difficult as you were, if I hadn't had you, I don't know if I would have survived…losing him."

Harm had come to stand nearer to her and looked out at the moonlight on the water. "I hope you find love like that son, but I pray it's never taken from you as mine was."

Harm thought of Mac, and how much the thought of her loss struck a fear in him, so profound that he was willing to throw everything away to be sure she was safe. "I think I know what you mean, Mom."

She gave him a side long glance, "Mac?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"So you're really serious?"

"Uh….we're doing….okay."

Trish laughed and Harm opened his arms and she hugged him, "Okay….I won't start."

Trish became serious again, "I will say this and I won't say anything else on the subject. What you do about Sergei is up to you, but I hope you won't pursue this. Not because I'm angry with him, or that I dislike him, it's just that I'm afraid for you."

"Mom…I'm fine."

"Harm, I want you to finally let your father rest….wherever he is. You are a wonderful man; I am so proud of you. You have Mac now; just be happy, son, and don't risk another minute on what cannot be undone. Your father was taken from us; I wish I could change that but I can't…you can't. The best thing to do is to live well, to live happily, like he would have wanted us to. I know he loved us both…I can still feel that love, especially when I think of you and your happiness. Please, son, for your own sake, let this go."

Harm was quiet for a moment, then he asked, "If you want me to let this go, why did you give me this?" He held up the small envelope.

"Because, whether I agree with you or not, to keep it from you would be wrong…deceitful somehow, and I don't want to do that…be that, to you."

Harm huggd his mother close to him, the loss of his father making his heart ache, for both of them. "Thank you, Mom."

She only nodded, and said, "Consider…everything...I said, son."

"I will." He would, but he was still going to find a way to prove Sergei was his brother; it was nearly as consuming to him, as finding his father had been.

_Back to the United Airlines flight 1048…_

Harm stretched his legs, as far as the seat ahead of him would allow. As he looked out of the window of the plane, he couldn't help smiling when he thought of his next session with Captain Miles….he'd have a field day with this one.

1945(Pacific)

Sunday

Burnett Residence

Trish Rabb Burnett walked out on the stone patio of her home; the sun had begun its long descent, leaving the sky alight with color. Her conversation with her son was still weighing heavily on her mind. She wondered if she had been too sharp with him; she went over everything she said to him, and knew that she would still have said the same thing. She had been harboring those feelings for a long time, and though it concerned her that he might not understand, saying what she felt about Sergei and Harm's insistence on pursuing proof of his parentage, freed her. There had been too many emotional highs and lows since Harm's first trip to Russia; his second trip brought out a bitterness she didn't like in herself. Now, maybe she could go on, and she hoped Harm would too.

She decided to take a walk along the path that led to the beach. As she looked up into the clouds that the sun had turned silver and gold, she spoke to her first love as though he were near enough to hear her words. She spoke aloud a question she had wrestled with for years, "What had happened? Did you give up? And what of Sergei's mother?" It was all too confusing. If he did stay with this woman… Trish shook the thought away; her husband never would have done that. If he was alive, then he was trying to get back to her. She still believed that with all her heart.

If she'd have believed he was alive, she never would have remarried, not ever.

As she watched the tide roll over the packed down sand and the sandpipers skitter out of its path, she said again… "What happened, Harmon…what really happened?"

February, 1980

Vulkoda Gulag

Southern Siberia

Colonel Mikhail Parlovsky stood in his stark green-grey room that served as his office, preparing to dismiss the men who had 'interrogated' his prisoner S394652.

He tried to escape again and had nearly succeeded, this time. His interrogators made sure his leg would prevent his 'running' away again. The prisoner would need to be removed from this camp, before any of his superiors had a chance to hear of this incident. He would put out a story about a mining accident, to cover his need to move him.

Colonel Parlovsky had been consigned to a command in the gulags in 1972 because of the lies Prisoner S394652 told. Although Parlovsky had not been his chief interrogator, the prisoner's presence in the Soviet Union was the result of an operation he set in motion. He had cost the Soviet government a great deal of money and manpower, when they spent over two years acting on misinformation given by this prisoner. Viktor Lushov could not spare him this time, as he had in the past. When the operation had begun, to transfer US aviators from Vietnam to the Soviet Union, Parlovsky believed it would be a means to promote him to the highest levels in the KGB. Because of the misinformation the prisoner gave them, he had instead been transferred to the frozen wastelands of Siberia.

It was tempting to kill him, and destroy any evidence of the existence of prisoner S394652. But that would be too easy and Parlovsky wanted to make him pay, to live and suffer pain, all the while knowing that his wife and child thought him dead.

Colonel Parlovsky focused his attention on the two men in front of him and asked.

"Is he still alive?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good, I will speak to him. He is still restrained?"

"Yes, but he is no threat, Colonel. He was unable to stand an hour ago." One of the men answered, a cruel gleam in his eye,

"Very good, you may go."

Both men came to attention, and then left the room. Colonel Parlovsky took a file from the top drawer of a file cabinet in the sparsely furnished office. He opened the file and looked at the newspaper clippings within; one of the articles was more recent than the other. Each held information that Parlovsky believed would finally break the will of Lieutenant Harmon Rabb Senior.

Parlovsky walked into the adjoining room, and approached the tall figure, slumped over in a chair in the much colder room, with his hands tied behind his back.

"Prisoner S394652, you are still with us, I see."

Harmon did not raise his head, even though he knew Parlovsky could pick up where his 'friends' had left off. He was past the point of giving a damn. He knew that if Parlovsky wanted him dead, he'd already be dead. He could take anything, he would survive, and somehow, he would get home.

"You have nothing to say….prisoner S394652?"

Harmon remained silent.

'You will look at me." Parlovsky spoke sharply to him and stood in front of him now.

Harmon raised his head slowly, and Parlovsky could still see defiance in his eyes; perhaps what he would learn tonight from the information he had in his file, would finally take that defiance away.

"I have news…, news that will hold your interest…would you like to see?"

"More propaganda, Colonel?"

"Oh, no…no propaganda…this is news from an American paper."

"Are you going to tell me again that America lost the war?" Harmon wasn't sure how he had accomplished it, but he would never believe that a military with the size and capability of the United States would ever lose, there was just no way, even with the help of the US' cold war nemesis, the Soviet Union.

"No, not this time; this news…is much more….personal and I assure you, what you will see is very…real."

Harmon shook his head and looked again at the floor; he didn't care what Parlovsky did, and he didn't feel like playing this game. 'What the hell else could they do anyway?' He thought, as the pain in his left leg began to peak, making sweat break out on his forehead, even in the cold interior of the room.

"You have no interest?"

Harmon did not answer.

Parlovsky smiled as he took the first clipping out and placed it on the floor in Harmon's line of vision.

Harmon's eyes came into focus on a picture of Trish….his wife, on the society page of the LA Post. 'Burnett Nuptials' The caption below a picture of Trish and her new…husband... stated that this was a second marriage for both of them, and that the former Mrs Harmon Rabb, had been widowed for over 8 years.

Harmon forgot his pain…the cold of the room, and for a few seconds, even that Parlovsky was standing near him, as he looked at his beloved wife on her wedding day… to another man. He looked at the date, June 2, 1977. He knew this was a possibility; he'd even tried to prepare himself for it, but actually seeing with his own eyes, his wife….leaving him behind, was another matter. The room in his heart, in which he kept his hope of returning to her, and to little Harm, was being obliterated by the reality that he had been forgotten.

"It seems your wife has grown tired of waiting." Parlovsky's voice took on a sarcastic lilt, as he walked around the room, all the while watching his prisoner's every move.

Harmon swallowed hard, his mind trying to comprehend as he tried to hide his feelings from one who would only exploit them. He would not give him the satisfaction of seeing him break down, though the pain in his heart nearly matched the pain he felt after Parlovsky's interrogators finished with his injured leg. At that moment he noticed something, in the background a face he knew as well as his own; it was Little Harm who, in this picture, appeared to be 13 or 14 years old, and anyone looking at him would have known how unhappy he was.

Parlovsky squatted down so that he could look into his face. Harmon gritted his teeth to keep his pain from appearing in his expression. "You have seen someone else you recognize in this picture?"

The Colonel was speaking in a conversational tone, patiently waiting for Prisoner 394652 to break.

This was the part of his little 'treat' that he planned for Harmon Rabb, that he would enjoy most. "Yes, Prisoner S49652, this is your son…no longer a little boy, but growing into a young man." He looked back down in the picture. "He is very much like you, is he not?"

Harmon did not answer.

"I have something else, something you will be especially interested in." He placed another clipping from July of 1978, of a 16 year old Harmon Rabb Junior, being escorted by his step father and his mother off of a plane at LA international airport.

The headline above this picture stated, 'Missing California Boy Found in Vietnam.' The caption explained that the young man had gone in search of his father who had been classified as MIA, since he'd been shot down in 1969.

"It seems your son is a very determined young man….it appears he doesn't believe you were killed, all those years ago…a terrible burden for one so young." He looked at this picture and grinned at Harmon evilly. "Who knows when he will try to find you again…Maybe we should arrange for him to find you…with the help of our own agents, of course…perhaps you could share a cell, in Vorkuta gulag."

Harmon could not hide his horror at the thought of it.

Parlovsky was satisfied. It was almost worth his demotion and assignment to Siberia. "It is something to consider…Prisoner 394652….when you tell yourself you have done well with your lies. I may have been temporarily set back…but I promise you, I will be here when you…and your son are long dead. You will never leave Siberia, never, and you will live long and suffer much before I allow your death."

Harmon looked away from him, battling a despair he'd never allowed himself to feel.

"What is it, Lieutenant Rabb?" He had not been called by his own name in years, not since he'd seen Victor, in 1972. "Do you not want to see your son?"

Harmon turned quickly back toward him, a feral rage exploding up through his beaten and starved body. Even in his present physical state, if he were not restrained, he would have snapped Colonel Parlovsky in two.

Parlovsky stood and walked away from him, still feeling very satisfied with what he had accomplished today. He opened the door to his office, glancing briefly at his prisoners face, still twisted with rage and then casually called to the guards who would return Lieutenant Rabb to his cell.

Shortly before dawn the next morning…

Harmon Rabb Senior lay on the wooden bench that was called his bed, his leg and the rest of his body throbbing with pain. His mind was still trying to grasp what he had learned last night. He felt immense pride and at the same time, nearly paralyzing fear for his son. His son had not forgotten him; he had the strength of heart and mind to get himself to Vietnam to try and find him. But there was little solace in that because it was that very trait in his personality could get him imprisoned, as he was, in this godforsaken corner of the world.

The cold of the room caused his body to shiver violently as he placed his hands over his face in the dark of the room. His mind immediately returned to his wife. He whispered her name, his breath visible in the cold and dark, "Trish…Trisha."

Trish had done what they had both agreed she would. She would make sure Little Harm had a father and a home. The problem was, he didn't realize how tightly he'd clung to the hope that she would wait, that somehow she would know, that he was here, trying to get back to them. In all the time he'd been in captivity, he could not dwell on the thought of her, but there were moments when he had the strength to allow it. When times were especially bad, he would bring back a memory of how it felt to hold her, to hear her laughter, or the sound of her voice when she whispered that she loved him. No matter how bad it got, it would be just enough to get him through another day.

Silent tears came; his despair had finally broken through and they washed warm on his face. Everyone in the cell was sleeping; he could not afford to let anyone see his pain.

For most of the night, he lay on his bed and mourned his dream, then as dawn was beginning to break,, a new determination was born.

He still had his son, his son still needed him...the little guy who never gave up. In his mind's eye, he remembered Little Harm's tripping over the knee knockers when he'd accompanied him on his first Tiger Cruise. He saw his determined expression as he got up quickly and caught up with him. If his son never gave up on him, the least he could do was try to stay alive and get back to him. The only way to do that was to get away somehow. Parlovsky meant to kill him, but slowly and further away from any means of escape.

For the first time in a long time, he didn't think about how far away he was, or what it could cost him, if he tried to escape again.

He only knew that he must get to his son….or die trying.

TBC

A/N: I will refer to Harmon Sr as Harmon and Harm as Harm (grin) so it won't be confusing for anyone.

A/N The word 'gulag' is actually a Russian acronym for The Chief Directorate of Corrective Labor Camps and Colonies.

A/N: I have spelled Vulkoba phonetically. I am sure this is not the Russian spelling.


	5. Chapter 5

Wings of the Morning

Chapter 5

Disclaimers: I don't own any of the JAG characters; I don't own any product or label mentioned for the purposes of telling this story.

Spoilers: Anything up to and including A Tangled Webb II in Season Nine.

A/N Many thanks to Jaggiegold for proofreading for me and for her kind words of support.

0515

Monday

June 6, 2003

Harm's Apartment

North of Union Station

The sun was just beginning to rise, filtering diffuse light into the room. It caused Harm to wake long enough to sense Mac's sleeping warmth beside him, and immediately he turned toward it. She was lying on her back, her arms resting above her head, the sheet wrapped loosely around her.

He opened his eyes only slightly and turned to her, sliding down just low enough to rest his head in her middle. Mac woke and smiled drowsily, cradling his head in her arms as she wove her fingers into his thick and shortly cropped hair.

"G' morning, Sailor"

"Mmm…g'mmng." His 'good morning' was barely discernable, as he willed himself to slip back into the deep and comfortable sleep that he'd enjoyed all night.

It was not to be though, Mac's voice, full of common sense and gentle authority, pulled him out of his slumber.

"Come on, Harm….We should probably get up, even if it is early."

Harm cuddled in further, making Mac laugh softly.

"Nah...not yet" She was going to have to work a lot harder than that to get him out of bed.

"Jet lagged?"

"Unh uh…jus' like it here." He was to trying to make this time last as long as possible so he drew a contented sigh, just for effect.

Mac smiled and kissed the top of his head.

"We did get to bed early. Maybe still have enough time to go out to breakfast…or get a run in."

Harm grinned slyly, "Yeah, we did go to bed early at that, didn't we?" He lifted his head and looked at her through sleepy eyes. "It was nice to find you here, I thought since I got home so early in the afternoon that…you might not be waiting….here."

Mac frowned but in a teasing voice asked, "So…my presence was…unexpected?"

Harm rolled onto his side and rested his head on his hand, "Let's just say…it was a very pleasant surprise."

"You know the old adage, Harm, 'Early to bed…." And then, too late Mac remembered the rest of the saying and thought better of finishing her thought aloud, where it might take him.

Harm's face reflected feigned curiosity. "What was the rest of that Mackenzie?"

Mac laughed and started to get out of bed, "Make me breakfast, Harmon."

He stealthily slipped his arms around her waist before she escaped him. "What is the rest of it?" His voice took on a deep and sensual tone as he gently pushed her back onto the bed, "Tell me….I forgot."

"Early to rise…." Mac was already drawn back into his seductive game as she watched his face from beneath him, waiting.

"Makes a man," he kissed her.

When she came up for air, Mac continued the game as she reached for him, lacing her fingers into the soft short hair at the back of his neck, she whispered in his ear. "Mmm...healthy"

"Wealthy," he countered.

"And… wise." She spoke the words just before he kissed her deeply this time and when he broke his kiss, the words he murmured in her ear were at once sweet and sexy, immediately making Mac forget anything but being there with him at that moment..

_Sometime later…._

Harm lay on his back with Mac turned into his arms, his fingers making lazy circles at the base of her spine.

"We really should get going Harm."

"I know...15 more minutes…never enough time….for this." He pulled her more tightly to him. Who knew what kind of assignment they'd both be given this week? Chances were, as they had been since the Admiral was made aware of their relationship, it would be as far away from each other as could be arranged.

Mac was quiet for a moment then finally decided to ask him about his visit with his mother.

"Do you mind my asking…. were you able to settle things…. with your Mom?"

"No…you can ask. She, uh… still doesn't want to give me the letters."

"But you only need the envelopes, not the letters themselves."

Harm lowered his voice as though he didn't quite understand what he was about to tell her. "She doesn't believe Sergei is my brother, Mac. She doesn't want to give up anything, even the envelopes, which is really all we need for DNA. She resents this…. a lot more than I thought."

Mac rose up on one elbow and looked at him, surprised herself at what Harm had said.

"I'm sure she feels conflicted about it, to say the least….but I have to say, I didn't expect that. Are you okay?"

Deep in thought, Harm traced the tip of his finger on her forearm where it rested across his chest.

"Yeah, I'm okay….I'm not really sure about my Mom though, I didn't expect her reaction at all; we talked about it…right after I spoke with you and she did give me something. She gave me a lock of his hair, from when he was about 2 years old. It turns out my grandmother gave it to her, for safekeeping until I…uh, settled down. We were getting along okay before I left… but this hurt her, Mac….a lot more than I realized."

"But the lock of hair may not reveal anything Harm. If the lock of hair was cut…"

"I know, I didn't argue the point with her; she was more upset than I have seen her in a long time. It was a peace offering, and I took it. I don't think I've ever seen her quite this way…about anything. Even speaking about Sergei really made her angry...I don't think I'm ever going to bring the subject up again."

"I'm going to give Terry Coulter a call tomorrow, if she's still in country; maybe some of the strands include the root and we can get enough of Dad's DNA to verify Sergei's parentage. . . If I can't contact Terry, I may give forensics at NCIS a call." He looked down at her, with an expression of pain now so familiar to her. "It's all I can do."

Unable to find the words to comfort him, Mac reached up to caress his cheek.

He looked into her eyes. "I don't think I ever really understood what they lost when my dad went MIA, I mean, aside from the obvious. They were close, Mac, really close." He grasped her wrist and turned his head into her palm and kissed it.…"like us."

Mac was slightly taken aback. She always saw the relationship she had with Harm as rare and special…but she hadn't thought of them as being closer than a married couple. She lay back down and snuggled close into him. His acknowledgement of what they had warmed her heart, but at the same time, it was still a little overwhelming.

Harm sensed how she was feeling and was self conscious for a moment, "I mean, they were friends…too. That isn't always true, when people are married…I mean."

Mac smiled secretly at his ability to read her and said, "I know what you mean. Not having you…in my life… ever again… would be a nightmare."

Harm glanced down at her relieved to know she felt the same way he did. He placed his hand over hers. "It would."

_At that same moment…_

Burnett residence

La Jolla, California

Patricia Rabb Burnett walked through the darkened house. It had to be after 3 am, but she didn't need or even want the light. She'd found the box of letters, she'd known exactly where they were. Other than the dim lights she kept on in her kitchen, the house was in total darkness. Somehow, tonight, the darkness calmed her, comforted her. Whereas the light, would be harsh and make her thoughts too painful…too real.

Harm's visit still weighed heavily on her mind, since he'd left for Washington. His visit made her mind turn toward a box she had hidden away, the box she had just carried into her dining room. A box of letters from Harmon, a box she hadn't opened since she married Frank. In all the moves she had made, in all the changes that took place from that time until now, the box remained with her.

She had never opened it again.

No matter how many things she had to keep track of and catalogue in her mind, all the little details of the Gallery, the everyday things that were her life as she knew it…the location of that box was always clear. Special care was always taken that it never be lost, though any observer watching her would never have known her concern.

She never spoke of it to anyone.

Trish carried the box into her darkened dining room and sat down at one of the chairs. The light from her kitchen was reflecting on its polished surface providing a little light of its own. She sat with the box of letters on the table in front of her. She had gone to bed at her usual time, and had been unable to sleep all night. She could only lay on her back...staring at the ceiling for hours after Frank had fallen asleep. Dear Frank…dear, patient, steadfast and loving, Frank. She did love him too, but her heart would always be divided, and for the first time since she married him, she decided to stop denying to herself. It was then she decided, she had to see them…the letters…to open the box and look at the letters…the lifeline…she had kept hidden away all these years.

Now Trish looked down at the box, her hands trembling as she started to lift the lid. She stopped herself and placed her hands on both sides of the box. She shook her head, mentally admonishing herself. What did she think would happen? Would the ghost of Harmon Rabb rise out of the box and haunt her without mercy?

"No need to worry about that," she said aloud. Harmon was always with her on one level or another…she would accept it now. Maybe accepting it would make it all easier to bear; God knew she'd tried everything else. No matter how many years passed, something always brought Harmon back to her and when that happened, the pain of his loss was still something she couldn't deny.

She ran her finger over the tops of the letters, pulling them back just enough to see the postmark. She smiled to herself, thinking that she could probably look at the dates of each letter and recite every word on the page. She was glad the room was darkened just now. Opening the box had been enough; she couldn't open the letters and hear his voice in her head. After Harmon was MIA and before she'd married Frank, she had read them until they had nearly fallen apart, even now she wondered if just taking the letters out of the envelopes would leave them in pieces. She hoped Harm understood that she couldn't let them go, not even the envelopes. She would have had to open the box, and take out his letters…how insane did that sound? Thinking about it now… Harm's request sounded so off the cuff and casual to her, he'd never understand, but it was as though he'd asked for his father's ashes. She hoped he understood…she hadn't expressed it well. Trish began to rub her temples and then she scoffed aloud… "Understand?…I don't even understand."

She removed the lid of the box and looked at the letters. The box was full, front to back and Trish had organized the letters, from Harmon's first letter to her while he was in the Academy until the very last letter she ever received from him. The later letters were shorter, full of inconsequentials; he saved the best of his thoughts to her for his letter tapes. The tapes she had given Harm, all but one. She questioned the wisdom of that decision, again…but it didn't matter anymore, it was too late. The dye was cast. Harmon was almost _too_ real to his son, so real that Harm had spent most of his life, living with this all consuming need to find his father.

Suddenly Trish felt an overwhelming regret and helplessness. It seemed all the things she tried to do to help Harm, to make the loss of his father easier, all the things she had tried to do in the past when he was a child to protect him, had the opposite effect. His desire to find his father had driven him most of his life, making him risk his life over and over, searching for answers to questions that would never be answered.

She looked down at the box of letters again. They were their letters; hers and Harmon's. No passage of time and no circumstance would ever change what they were to each other.

She spoke her thoughts aloud, "I can't do it…I'm sorry, son…I just can't."

Trish suddenly felt so tired she could barely hold up her head. She flattened her palms on the surface of the table on each side of the box and then slid them forward, placing her arms around them gently. Slowly, she lowered her head and rested it on the open box of letters, and as she slipped into the sleep that had evaded her all night, she whispered a prayer.

_Dear God…whatever comes of this…please… give my son…peace. _

_Give us both…peace._

Monday

June 6, 2003

0915

JAG Headquarters

Falls Church, Virginia

Staff call was just winding down, with Harm and Mac being given their assignments. His case looked pretty interesting. NCIS had been called in to investigate the murder of a Navy reservist, Petty Officer 1st Class Bartley Collins. Petty Officer 2nd Class Petit, also a reservist was charged with his murder. Bud was prosecuting and he would defend, a task he didn't relish, at all. There were extenuating circumstances. It seems the Petty Officer Petit had also been found to be fraudulently wearing awards he had not earned. NCIS believed PO Collins knew about it and that he killed PO Collins to silence him.

He glanced across the table at Bud, suddenly envious of his assignment to prosecute.

Before dismissing everyone the Admiral told them he had an announcement to make.

"As some of you may be aware, I have been considering retiring for some time. Officially effective 31 May, I have begun preparation to retire from my position here at JAG and from the Navy." Most of the officers at the conference table sat in stunned silence. "Before any of you begin plans to celebrate, understand it will most likely be six months to a year before I transition out and my replacement can be appointed."

Harriet was unable to keep still. "Oh, sir…we're not going to..."

The Admiral looked her, an easy smile on his face. "I understand Lieutenant…I wasn't speaking about all of you." For reasons he wasn't even sure of, he glanced at Harm.

Harm started to give a protest of his own when the Admiral dismissed them all. "You have your assignments people…dismissed."

The Admiral was up and out of the room in what seemed like seconds. Harm was still standing where he had stood at attention, as everyone else began filing out of the room. Mac looked back at him curiously as she started to walk out of the room.

"Harm?"

"Does he really think I'm going to celebrate?"

Mac chuckled softly, "Harm….I'm sure it was just a joke."

Harm caught up with Mac and opened the conference room door, and as she preceded him out, she couldn't resist teasing him, "But remember…you are the son he never wanted."

"Funny, Marine."

"That's 'your honor' to you, Commander." Mac would be on the bench for 6 weeks, filling in for Judge Helfman, while she was on extended leave.

Harm was glad he hadn't been chosen to go to the judiciary. He really was the hunter- gatherer type, and Mac had laughingly agreed when he told her about it.

"When do you report to Admiral Morris?"

"Soon," She looked at her watch, "Ten hundred."

"Catch up with me before you leave?"

"Buy me dinner..and I'll think about it," tossing the comment over her shoulder as she sauntered into her office.

That same day…

0630(Pacific time)

Burnett Residence

La Jolla, California

Frank Burnett woke to find his wife's side of the bed empty. He went in search of her, vaguely concerned when the house was still and quiet. He walked into his kitchen, thinking that he'd find her there, but only found it empty. Just when he was beginning to feel anxious about her, he walked into the dining room and found his wife, with her head resting on an open box of letters. He'd known she'd been upset since Harm's visit and though he'd never seen this box of letters before, he knew they were from Harm's father.

He placed his hand on her back, wanting to comfort her, hoping she would finally allow him to when it came to this.

"Trish," he whispered softly.

She startled and seemed disoriented for a moment. "Oh…Frank...I'm…"She looked down at the box of letters and suddenly felt as though she'd betrayed him. "I'm sorry…I..."

"It alright Trish…it's been a difficult few days for you."

"No, it's not alright." She replaced the lid on the box. "This is terrible. I'll put these away; I really didn't open any of them. I just….I don't know…why I even…I shouldn't have taken these out. I swear to you, Frank…since we were married…I never opened this box…not once." She stood quickly, slightly off balance, but Frank caught her and gently guided her back to her chair.

"I know. Please, Trish…stop. Sit down and talk to me about this." His voice even and patient, putting her at ease, as it always did.

His kindness to her made her feel even more guilty about having reached back into her past to try to reconnect with her first husband. "I love you Frank…you have to know I do."

"I do know, I believe you, darling…please don't upset yourself over this. I know you love me. I'm just not Harmon Rabb….I never even served in the military…I'm not like him at all."

Trish clasped his hand in both of hers. "I never wanted you to be; I don't know if I can explain so that you will understand, but if you had been… like him….I couldn't have loved you…..I'd still have been…."

Frank finished her sentence, "thinking of him."

"I've tried so hard to be a good wife to you. You have been so kind to me, I wanted to put Harmon behind me."

Frank sat down next to her and pushed her tousled hair back from her face. "May I tell you something?"

Trish nodded.

"When you and I began to see each other, besides feeling like the luckiest man on earth, I loved the way you confided in me. You talked to me about everything, every concern…even the loss you felt where Harm's father was concerned. Your trust in me meant everything."

"I do trust you, darling…I always have."

"But after we married you stopped confiding in me…stopped leaning on me when you needed to."

"I didn't want you to think I was anything but happy and, Frank, and I was…."

"Most of the time." He finished her sentence for her. "I know you too well, my darling."

"I didn't think it was fair…I felt as though I was failing you." She looked down at her hands, still clasping his.

"Trish, I never expected you to forget Harmon Rabb ever existed. I can't say I would have wanted to talk about him every day…" Frank tried to smile and lighten Trish's mood and somehow…her heart.

She smiled and shook her head. "I didn't need to every day…I really have been happy; we've had and still have, a wonderful life together."

Frank leaned in and kissed her lightly. "I'm so glad you feel that way…but dearest...please, talk to me. What has you so troubled that you can't sleep?"

Trish told him about the details of Harm's visit, that she'd gotten angry with him and that truthfully, she still was angry with him. Frank was well aware of Sergei's existence. The week she'd found out about him, Trish had been more distant with him than she'd ever been. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, she'd acted as though nothing had changed and never spoke of Sergei again.

"Harm's visit brought it all back?"

"Yes…he wants his fathers letters, the envelopes really…for the DNA."

"And you refused?"

She was unable to meet his gaze when she nodded in the affirmative.

"Why?"

"Because I don't believe it…I'd never told him so, in the past, when he told me what he believed about him. I don't know why I didn't tell him. I think I was so stunned when he told me…I just reacted."

"The DNA test can only prove what you believe, Trish."

"I can't do it, Frank." Her voice was quiet, but her resolve was firm.

"Alright…I'm not going to press the issue; the letters are yours, darling…but, can you at least help me understand…why?"

Trish suddenly felt tears start…sharp in her eyes. She drew a deep breath, trying to keep them at bay. "Because…if that's true…he was alive…when I believed he was dead….and if that's true…I can't bear it." Ashamed, she still could not hold his gaze. "If he was held prisoner in Russia…then he was alive when I married you….I betrayed him…I betrayed Harm….and even you." She began to cry in earnest now, turning away from him, covering her face with her hands.

Frank took her into his arms and pulled her close to him. "Darling…. darling…there is no way you could have known….you didn't create the situation you and Harmon were in, please stop tormenting yourself about things you have no control over."

All of Trish's fears came pouring out. Every emotion Harm's visit had brought to the fore came rushing out. "I'm afraid I did everything wrong.…I shouldn't have let Harm have the letter tapes…his father was too real to him. He couldn't let him go, he still can't."

She drew a deep breath.

"It's ruining his life. He nearly ruined his career, trying to protect Sergei… and it's all my fault."

"Trish…"

She wiped the tears from her face and tried to calm herself. "I'm being silly about this…I know."

"No, you're not, it's just something you've held inside for a long time….I'm so glad you told me."

"I love you, Frank. I don't know what I would be without you."

"You'll never have to find out." He stood and gently helped her up. "Come on…let's get you to bed."

They walked arm in arm out of the dining room and upstairs to their bedroom. "I really do feel tired. I'm glad I talked to you about this...I feel so much better."

Frank helped her into bed and kissed her. "Get some sleep, darling…we'll have a late breakfast together."

Trish did sleep, better than she had in some time. She lay down in her bed and in spite of all that had happened in the last 24 hours, her heart felt lighter and instead of feeling heavy with guilt….she felt humbled by Frank's love and patience…and then unbidden, the thought came to her, that even though she's survived some terrible difficulties in her live, at this moment….she felt blessed.

TBC

A/N: I am delving deeper into Trish and Harmon's story, because I have always been in love with their love story too. Harm and Mac are at the center of this story, but as I've said before, I'm fleshing them out a bit.


	6. Chapter 6

Wings of the Morning

Chapter 6

Disclaimers as previously stated.

1645

Monday

June 6, 2003

JAG Headquarters

Falls Church, Virginia

As Mac approached Harm's office, she could see him through the blinds, appearing to be still at work, totally engrossed in some sort of research as he sat in front of his computer. Mac stepped into his office and crept up behind him. The subject of his research surprised her.

"Russian Wedding Traditions?" Mac read over his shoulder.

Harm was slightly startled, "just doing a little research… I'm going to be Sergei's svide...teli."

Mac recognized the word and translated. "Svideteli...witness. That's right, I'd forgotten; there are no best men in Russia, at least not traditionally. Will he and his fiancée be having a religious service?"

"No, just a civil service, at the…," Harm squinted as he read his computer screen, "Department of Registration of Civil Statuses." He looked more closely at the screen and then back at Mac. "ZAGS?"

Mac nodded her understanding, "Russian acronyms are a little difficult to follow."

Harm had already returned his attention once again, to his computer screen. "It's a fifteen minute ceremony….hmm, my kind of wedding…"

Mac's brow drew down as she listened in amusement. She quietly closed the door of Harm's office and without his having noticed, stepped back around his desk and stood beside him as he continued.

"No engagement ring….bride makes her own dress. Hey...the groom gets off pretty easily…" He continued to read quietly, along with his very enlightening commentary.

He looked up at Mac, suddenly aware that she was now standing much closer to him, her expression intent and still slightly amused.

"Oh really…is that every man's dream, Harm? A short and cheap wedding?"

Harm looked up, eyes wide, his trademark 'deer in the headlights' look.

"Ah…no, Mac…of course not…I was thinking of Sergei, he

doesn't have a lot of money…I didn't mean..."

"Don't panic, flyboy…I'm just kidding"

He narrowed his gaze and teased back, "No, Mackenzie…you're just annoying."

"Yes, I am….what else have you 'learned' today?" She replied smugly.

"It looks as though I've let myself in for more than I bargained for when I agreed to this. The witnesses really have the most to do, as far as planning and carrying out everything to do with the wedding and the reception."

Mac placed her hands on the back of his chair, "You love it, don't you?"

Harm grinned, "I do, I have to admit, I just hope I don't screw it up. I'm glad you're coming with me. I have to lead off with the first toast."

"You'll be fine…just remember, you have to break the champagne glass after the toast, if it doesn't break…it's bad luck."

"I don't think I'll have a problem there." Harm smirked. "I'm more concerned about the language barrier. My Russian leaves a lot to be desired. I could think I'm wishing my brother and his new wife a long and happy life and, in fact, be directing his wedding guests to the bathroom."

Mac laughed out loud, "That would be embarrassing."

"I have to arrange cars to get the bride and groom to ZAGS and to the reception." Harm was focused again on the computer screen.

"Maybe we could contact Alexi?" Mac was teasing him again.

Harm gave her a look that could only be interpreted as disgust, "Not likely."

"Hey, he drove me through a war zone to Chechnya, so that I warn you about Colonel General Krelov."

"I suppose so…but he has too many KGB contacts for my taste. How much did you pay him back then, anyway?"

"It's FSB. And I didn't pay him, he did it for me," Mac corrected, with the new acronym for Russia's intelligence community.

"Whatever, I would bet someone paid him. I wouldn't be surprised if Webb 'and' Sokol paid him." As far as he was concerned, you couldn't trust anyone connected to the FSB, or whatever they called themselves now.

"What about Captain Volkanov? Do you have a way of contacting him?"

"It's been awhile. I think I've got a contact phone number…but I won't need to get in touch with him." He leaned back and looking up at her, gave her a seductive smile, "I have a gorgeous translator, who is fluent in the Russian language….among…other..."

Tiner buzzed Harm's office, catching him at mid leer as Mac laughed and waved him off.

"Commander Rabb, I have a long distance call for you on line six, Sir."

Harm took the call, it was Sergei.

"Hey, I was just talking about you, what's up? Is everything okay?"

"Yes…I think so...but you may not." Sergei answered.

Harms brow furrowed and he leaned forward in his seat. "What is it, Sergei?"

Mac sat down at the chair in front of his desk, listening with concern to Harm's side of the conversation.

Sergei continued, "I went to ZAGS to register to be married in August, as Galena and I planned, but there are no dates in the first week of August, when the registrar may be available to perform the wedding ceremony."

"If you're worried about my being able to change my leave time, you don't have to. I haven't put in for it yet. I don't mind waiting for a time that works better for you two, it's no problem," Harm interjected, believing he had covered all the bases and trying to put his brother at ease.

"No, that is not the problem; the problem is that I had to choose a date in July, on the 11th. If we do not take this date, we will have to wait for 3 months before we can be married, and Galena and I...we do not want to wait…do you understand?"

Harm looked across his desk at Mac, his soft, but serious expression piquing her curiosity. "I think I do."

"You think you will still be able to be svideteli for our wedding?"

Sergei's worried tone of voice dispelled any thoughts of what Harm would someday like to have with Mac. He focused on reassuring his brother, "That won't be a problem. We still have a little more than a month. I should be able to get leave with no problem."

Mac frowned; she wasn't so sure, at least where she was concerned. She would still be covering for Judge Helfman. Admiral Morris wouldn't want to have to find a replacement for her; she wasn't due back at JAG for at least 6 weeks.

Sergei and Harm's conversation continued.

"I am so glad. I wanted you to be there...and I think I have a very happy surprise for you."

Harm's brow knitted, "A surprise? Sergei, I don't want a gift. This is 'your' wedding remember? I'm taking care of everything, no arguments."

"It is not something I bought, but I think you will like it…very much…it will be a gift to you from my uncle….."

"Hey, no riddles, brother."

"I am not trying to make a riddle, Harm." Sergei thought he had already said too much and he was concerned about speaking on the phone about finding his father's burial place. There was a remote chance, he believed, that his phone calls could be monitored because of his connection to his American brother.

"I must go…it is late here. I hope you can get your leave. Will you be bringing Colonel Mackenzie?"

"I'm sure I'll get it…and yes, she'll be coming with me." Harm looked at Mac and smiled warmly, happy that she would be sharing this with him.

They ended the call. After Harm replaced the phone on the receiver he seemed deep in thought.

"What is it, Harm?"

Harm shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know…Sergei was being…cryptic, about something."

Mac couldn't keep from good naturedly chiding him, "Imagine that, a Rabb being cryptic…"

"Very funny," he smiled in mock sarcasm.

"So when are Sergei and his fiancée going to be married?"

"Next month….the 11th. I guess we'd better get our leave requests in, huh?"

Mac shook her head slowly, "Harm, I think we should probably be prepared for the Admiral to deny my leave request."

He gave her an easy smile, "Mac…we've both done exactly as ordered, we've kept our relationship out of the office, we've attended our counseling without any issues….I don't see why there would be a problem."

"We've been doing well, that's true….but I'll still be covering for Judge Helfman. I think the Admiral's going to run a pretty tight ship until his replacement is selected and installed."

"Nah…he'll let us go…." He leaned across his desk, with his devilish grin firmly in place, "Mac, with the dispassionate plan."

Mac chuckled and thought that she just might be wrong, because with that smile Harm could sell ice to Eskimos.

1445

June 7, 2003

Tuesday

National Naval Medical Center

Bethesda, Maryland

Harm was well into his session with Captain Miles.

"Have the residual effects of your concussion resolved themselves, Commander?"

"Yes, I've resumed my running schedule. I never really felt limited, I had some headaches and dizziness, for a few days after the accident; but now, I'm not having any problems at all."

"Are you going to pursue an SBFS, so that you can return to full flight status?"

Harm looked away from the Captain, "No…I don't think so…I'm at a point in my career that I need to focus solely on the law…." He looked back at him and smirked, "…if I want to have a successful career at JAG. I'll stay current with my flight status, at Medical Service Group 2, when I'm cleared...and I have a Steerman that I fly for pleasure, but…that's it."

"I'm sure this has been difficult, but I think you should keep in mind that you've been fortunate, Commander. According to your record, you were allowed to return to carrier duty and shipboard aircrew for a time, before you returned again to JAG. It's not a privilege many aviators get."

"I know…that's true. As I said though, I feel fine; I know that I might have a deficit that isn't obvious to me. I've had a lot of time to think about that, about the way it is when someone wasn't able to acknowledge their limitations….how dangerous it is. It was difficult to apply to myself." He looked at Captain Miles directly, "But I think I've done that."

Harm glanced at the wings on Captain Miles' uniform.

"If I may ask, sir, are you still keeping your carrier quals current?"

The Captain looked up, slightly surprised by his question. "You may; I haven't flown...since Vietnam…over 30 years ago." He smiled without humor, "I punched out, lost my aircraft, I was lucky I survived; I've got a lot of screws and rods, in my back and both of my legs." He became very serious, for only a second, and then continued, "Sometimes I still can't believe I made it back in one piece. After I recovered from my injuries, I found another way to serve… as you can see."

The Captain waited, looking at Harm in a way that let him know that the conversation about him, was over.

"I can understand that." Harm knew just what it meant to start over again. "I hope I didn't over step sir."

"Not a problem."

Harm looked at his watch, relieved that this session was almost over.

"In a hurry, Commander?" He raised his eyebrows in question.

"No…sir, I was just thinking about an appointment I have at the Washington Navy Yard…at NCIS."

"Very well, before you leave, there are some points I want you to think about between now and when I see you on Thursday; but let me preface that by saying that I believe you've made good progress, Commander, do you agree?"

"Yes, sir."

"You appear more focused on the present ...with your life as it is now."

Harm gave him a questioning look, "But?

"We've talked a great deal about your visit with your mother last weekend and about your belief that..." He looked down at his notes, "Sergei Zhukov is your brother."

"He is my brother, Captain." Harm tone of voice was flat, but deep down he was immediately defensive.

"As you say, Commander."

The Captain's patient tone was beginning to wear on him. Since the session was nearly over, he decided to tell him about his planned trip to Russia to attend Sergei's wedding, just to get it overwith.

"Are you sure that's wise, Commander?"

"I think it is…it means a lot that he wanted me to be there." To Harm it was unthinkable that he wouldn't attend, and as far as he was concerned, it wasn't negotiable.

"Have you discussed this with your commanding officer?"

"Not yet, but I have put in my request for leave next month; I'm sure we will discuss it before he grants that request."

The Captain looked down at his notes and after considering what he intended to do, he continued, "We'll discuss this further Thursday." It was time to have a conversation with Admiral Chegwidden.

He stood, signaling to Harm that the session was over.

As Harm made his way out of the medical center, his mind was already on what he intended to do next. He wanted to talk to the investigating officers in the Collins' case, and he wanted to pay a visit to and ask a favor of Forensics Specialist Abigail Sciuto. He had the lock of hair that his mother had given him. It was a long shot, but it might be possible to get his father's DNA from it.

While it was true that Harm and the Forensics Specialist didn't know each other well, he hoped he could appeal to her curiosity and enlist her help in solving a long buried mystery…a mystery that would finally put this question to rest, once and for all, and leave no doubt that Sergei Zhukov was Harmon Rabb Senior's son and his brother.

Later that day….

JAG Headquarters

Falls Church, Virginia

Admiral Chegwidden sat at his desk looking at two leave requests, lying side by side on his desk blotter. He really couldn't spare both of them. It was reasonable for the Commander to go, but he also knew Rabb traveling to Russia without Mac, could spell trouble with a capital T. Most people couldn't find a way to get into trouble at a family member's wedding, but if he knew Rabb, and he did, there was at least a 50 percent chance of his winding up in a great deal of trouble.

Things had been relatively quiet at JAG for the past few weeks; he'd been wondering when something like this would come up. If he were to remain true to what he told Harm when he allowed him to return to JAG, he could not allow any special consideration to him, in any way. That included granting his 'significant other' leave, to accompany him out of the country. While it really wasn't his business what Rabb did while he was on leave….

Mac was another matter. While, personally, it would give him a measure of peace of mind that she was with him, he truly could not spare her. Judge Helfman wouldn't be back from her leave and Mac was essential until she returned.

In truth, it was time to see if the Commander had finally reined himself in when it came to his father. It was time to know if Rabb could keep his career and his personal life separate…. time for the Commander to prove to him that his reactions would be measured and well thought out, if and when, the opportunity to further unravel the mystery of what happened to his father presented itself.

Otherwise, the required counseling that allowed Rabb back at JAG…everything he'd been trying to pound into his thick skull… will have been an exercise in futility.

Just then, Petty Officer Tiner buzzed his office.

"I have Captain Miles for you on line four, Sir."

"Thank you Tiner, you can secure for the day."

"Thank you, sir."

The Admiral took the call, "What can I do for you, Captain?"

"Thank you for taking my call, sir. I'll get right to the point."

"Please do." The Admiral frowned, at the tone of the Captain's voice.

"I have concerns about Commander Rabb's belief that he has a half brother Admiral was silent.

"You have to admit, sir. It seems pretty farfetched. We've all heard the rumor about American POW's being transferred to Russia, but it's never been substantiated."

The Admiral asked the question for him. "And you want to know if I believe there is any possibility that this young man is the Commander's brother?"

"Yes, sir, that's it in a nutshell. This seems to be a point on which the Commander will consider no other possibility. Do you have any idea why he is so sure that Sergei Zhukov is his brother?"

"I do, though I can't elaborate on it, I would say it is a very strong possibility that what the Commander believes is true."

"The rumors are true?"

The Admiral would only answer, "I can neither confirm, nor deny."

Deciding to change the course of the conversation, the Admiral asked, "The Commander is making good progress otherwise?"

Knowing better than to press the issue, the Captain answered, "Yes, sir, he is. He had a difficult time with reduction in his flight status, in the beginning. He has since demonstrated a more realistic attitude about it, at this stage of his career. However, he is still taking on a great deal of responsibility where his brother is concerned. He still feels compelled to 'rescue' the important people in his life. He has acknowledged that, in the past, he hasn't always thought things through."

The Admiral smirked, thinking, if the Captain only knew, instead he answered, "That's good to hear.…And…after all, Captain, being compelled to come to the rescue isn't always a bad thing in our line of work, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, sir. I would have to say that I agree." He smiled at the memory of the first day he'd ever met AJ Chegwidden.

The Captain continued, "Thank you, sir, for your insight on this matter. And, sir…if you'll permit me, I'm sure you'll remember that I'm the last man who would disapprove of someone who is willing to go the extra mile for his friends or comrades."

"Very well, Captain." He smiled as he remembered a long ago rescue of which he played a part.

"Goodnight, sir."

As the two officers ended the call, they both remembered the day they met, when they were both young men, in another time, in another part of the world. It was the spring of 1972 in South Vietnam.

_Near the DMZ…_

_Lieutenant AJ Chegwidden was part of a two man team who was sent north to verify intelligence reports of the possible movement of the NVA into South Vietnam. The CIA reports indicated that they were planning a large offensive that would push south in response to the implementation of another phase of the President's plan of Vietnamization. The plan would turn over responsibility of the defense of South Vietnam to their own conventional forces, as American troops withdrew._

_The NVA were coming south alright, with heavy artillery and armor. From what he had observed, there were tens of thousands of NVA poised to come south, dug in just 2 miles north of the DMZ. The South Vietnamese would need US air support if they crossed south of the line._

_He and his partner, the then Petty Officer Second Class Rudiger, were able to make a small dent in their armor and get clear of the NVA encampment. They were to meet at Firebase Utah, in Quang Tri province, at first light the following morning. It was just before dusk and AJ had covered a lot of ground, undetected by anyone. He was sure he had cleared the DMZ without incident when he heard aircraft above him and then a near deafening explosion made him drop face down on the ground. Afterward, when he was sure he was clear, he raised his head just enough to see a parachute open through a break in the trees. It looked as though the downed aviator's chute was going to land him, not 20 yards from where he had taken cover when he heard the explosion._

_The young SEAL lieutenant had to think fast, the NVA had to have seen him come down, they had probably already sent a patrol to recover him, but they were far enough north that the downed aviator might be rescued before they got to him. These were thoughts shared by the other young lieutenant, as his parachute carried him down into unknown territory._

_The young aviator was the then Lieutenant Oliver Miles. A SAM had taken out his aircraft on the last day of what was his first tour with his squadron, aboard the USS Coral Sea in the South China Sea. The explosion propelled his body up and out of his aircraft so forcefully that he'd nearly blacked out. As he descended into the dense jungle he collided with the tangled braches of the trees before he hit the ground. He hit the ground hard; if he'd have been able to breathe at that point, he would have cried out in pain. _

_As soon as Lieutenant Miles could manage to move he turned on his beeper so that the SAR team could locate him. He began to try to get out of his chute when he heard a gruff and distinctly American voice that seemed to come out of nowhere. _

"_Take it easy, I'll cut you out, and get you under cover. You've got about 30 thousand NVA not three miles north…."_

_In his still disoriented state, Lieutenant Miles saw the young SEAL moving toward him in his peripheral vision; he started to struggle to move, trying to get up and take cover from what 'the voice' told him was coming._

"_Listen, kid," The voice was a raspy whisper but it was sharp and held an authority that cut through the haze of his injuries and panic he felt. "If you do what I tell you, I can get you undercover and keep you alive until the Jolly's get here, which may not be until first light. If you don't, the NVA will have both our heads on a pike and use that beeper to lure the SAR team in and bring them down too. Do you read me?" _

_Lieutenant Miles, even his confused state, went completely still, and did as he was told; he was cut out quickly by someone who had to be American but that his blurry vision would not allow him to see clearly. He was lifted onto the man's back, and the adrenaline that had shielded him from most of the pain of multiple fractures, was gone. Pain that was a result of his forcible ejection and collision with the trees, and the pain caused the young aviator to mercifully lose consciousness._

_AJ knew he would be delaying reporting on his mission,, he could have continued and left the rescue to the SAR team, but who knew if this kid would regain consciousness and if he did, if he panicked and called out, the NVA could find him for sure. The other issue was the beeper. It was as he had told the downed aviator, the NVA were known to have taken the emergency beepers downed aviators used to signal SAR aircraft to their location. He believed he could still make Firebase Utah and still be sure the Jolly Greens could locate this kid._

_And so, AJ kept the watch, and on more than one occasion he heard someone or something making their way through the jungle very near their location, but hey were passed by without detection. As AJ had suspected, the young aviator did pass in and out of consciousness; at times, he would start to panic, until AJ made his presence known, with a 'take it easy' or 'hang on' then he would be out again._

_As day broke, AJ heard them first, and then Lieutenant Miles. At first, Miles didn't trust his own senses, then he heard the Sandies flying low and then the 'whup whup whup' of the Huey as it came closer and closer._

_He could hear and smell a smoke marker being set off. He heard 'the voice' again. "There's your ride, kid, I'm outta here."_

_Lieutenant Miles strained to clear his vision once more, to try to see the man who had stayed with him all night. He couldn't quite make out the face under the boonie cover, but he could read the name, 'Chegwidden' on his BDU's. And so in his near delirium, he asked, "What's a Chegwidden?"_

'_The voice didn't answer._

"_I said…what the hell's a Chegwidden?" Miles voice was slurred and he was still straining his eyes to see the man to whom he was speaking._

"_I'll tell ya, a Chegwidden just sat up all night with your scrawny ass, boy." A face with strong features, camophlaged with green and brown paint suddenly appeared before him and Miles was able to discern two dark, seemingly black, eyes that laughed at him and looked sharply into to his for what seemed seconds and then he was gone. _

_The next few moments were a blur of the SAR team moving up on him fast, he was lifted painfully up and in moments was aboard the Huey and on his way to Da Nang._

After Lieutenant Miles recovered, he learned how much more danger he'd been in. NVA were indeed moving south, they were minutes from his location, so close that the Jolly Greens had taken fire as they left his rescue site. If it hadn't been for the US air cover, called in as a result of what the SEAL's discovered, many of South Vietnam's conventional forces in northern Quang Tri Province and anyone else in their path would have perished, or wished they had.

It had taken him over 5 years, but Lieutenant Miles finally pieced together what had happened on that terrible night, and it had taken another 2 years to find the man who had helped save his 'scrawny ass', as he so eloquently put it. And since then, every second Friday in April, when their duty stations allowed it, the downed aviator and the former SEAL had a drink to celebrate.

They celebrated that they were both still alive to have that drink.

TBC

A/N: I want to say first that I know I'm peering through the glass darkly, when it comes to those who served during the Vietnam War. My brother served 66-68, 1st Air Cavalry. He came home with a scarred heart but with his humanity intact, in spite of being maligned and spat upon when he came home. This is my pitiful contribution, a small way to honor him and his service.

It's another reason I love Harm Sr. and AJ's stories. They were men of honor, in spite of what happened 'over there' and over here.

A/N: According to the United States Naval Flight Surgeons Handbook, an aviator may continue to wear his flight insignia, though he is not on active flight service. To quote them….'Revocation of the right to wear insignia is considered appropriate only as a result of actions which dishonor Naval aviation or there has been a flagrant violation of established rules, regulations and directives.

Definitions

SBFS: Special Board of Flight Surgeons

SAR: Search and Rescue.

Medical Service Groups: See my story A Little Lower than the Angels, chapter 14)

Sandy: A1-E1 Skyraider aircraft providing fire suppression on SAR missions

The Jolly Green Giant: A HH-3E twin engine heavy lift, helicopter that was modified for search and rescue during the Vietnam War. A more modern version of this aircraft is in use today in support of our troops overseas. Accounts that I have read of their exploits in Vietnam were nothing less than heroic and it's amazing to me that I never heard of them until I saw a program about them on the History Channel.

The Jolly Green Association is a great group of people, past and present who answered the call, 'that others might live'. They are active in their communities and sponsor scholarships for association dependents.

_Fighter pilots have no fear, Jolly Green Giants are always near._

DMZ: De-Militarized Zone.

A/N: There was, in truth, an Easter Offensive by the NVA, in the spring of 1972, into South Vietnam which was beaten back by US air support.


	7. Chapter 7

Wings of the Morning

Chapter 7

Disclaimers: I don't own any of the JAG/NCIS characters. I don't own any product or label mentioned for the purposes of telling this story. Any similarities to situations or persons living or dead are purely coincidental.

A/N: We will be 'walking through' NCIS from time to time, but the focus will be the JAG characters.

1630

June 7, 2003

Capital Beltway

Washington, DC

Harm was driving back to his apartment, deep in thought about his conversation with Special Agent Gibbs and DiNosso. He'd also been able to interview the arresting agents for his client, Petty Officer Petit. In Harm's own interview with the Petty Officer, he was adamant that all of his former shipmates had not been spoken to by NCIS and that they would back him up in his claim of friendship with the victim, Petty Officer Collins. He was sure they would attest to the fact that he wasn't capable of killing anyone. He mentioned a girl, Shelley Griffin, that they'd both 'hung out' with, saying she had also been involved with the victim at the time of his death. He was sure that she would also affirm that Collins was his best friend and that he could never have killed him.

Harm hadn't been able to contact the girl, but he was able to contact a reservist who had already finished his tour and had returned to his home in Ohio. The interview did raise some questions about this situation; this man, Petty Officer 2nd Class David Michaels, informed him that Collins was at odds with a number of people aboard ship and that Petit and Collins had never been known to have a cross word.

Harm had a strong distaste for his client's behavior, in that he had worn ribbons that he hadn't earned. However, the more he learned about the case and based on what he'd uncovered in his interview with his client; one thing had become abundantly clear. There were other players in this situation, players that NCIS, apparently, wasn't aware of, at least not until today.

He was blocks away from his apartment when he got a call from Mac.

"Hey, you."

It was so great to hear her voice, after an afternoon dealing with the dark subject of murder, in addition to the ever present need to establish living proof that his father had been taken to Russia. Sergei was living proof.

"Hey…what's for dinner?" Mac was still at work, just finishing up.

"What do you want?"

"You."

"Oh...sweet talk, I like it."

"Feed me and you'll get more." Her laughter floated through the phone and lifted his spirits, immediately. She continued,

"Let's go out...nothing fancy, just you and me and…Japanese...maybe? Then let's just stay out…the Mall, Rock Creek Park, I don't care, I just want to be outside, let's stay out 'til dark."

"Until the street lights come on, Mackenzie?" He teased her.

"Yeah…even later than that." She laughed and played along.

"No kidding, I feel as though I've been in court for days; it's suffocating sometimes." The beautiful late spring day was getting to her. She had spring fever; there was no doubt about it.

"I know what you mean. This could be just what the doctor ordered; give me about an hour… I'll see you at your place."

"And Harm?"

"Yeees." He feigned irritation, teasing her.

"This is definitely a night for the Corvette… not the Lexus."

"Is that right?" This was sounding better all the time.

"Yes it is, with the top down, Mister."

"Yes, ma'am."

They ended their call and later, much to Mac's surprise, Harm was actually early. They settled on Japanese carry out and had their dinner in Rock Creek Park.

They sat next to each other on the table top of a picnic table that was not quite off of the beaten path.

The late afternoon sun was shining green gold through the trees. The breeze was soft and warm and smelled of newly mown grass. There was no sound of mowers just now, just the sound of the trees rustling in the breeze high above them, along with the birds chirping, perched in the branches of the trees.

As they finished up Mac asked him, "You're going to make me ask you how it went at NCIS today, aren't you?" She knew he'd gone there after his appointment with Captain Miles.

He knew that she was as anxious as he was to know what he'd been able to accomplish.

Harm gave her a sidelong glance. "I was getting around to it…Patience is a virtue, Mackenzie."

"Spill it, Harmon." She playfully nudged him with her shoulder.

"I don't really have a lot to tell, not as far as my father's DNA is concerned. I talked to Special Agent DiNosso about Petty Officer Petit. He didn't have any record of an interview with two of the reservists who served with Petit in his last deployment. I'm going to follow up with it; I've got a few questions about the interview with the girlfriend too."

"Did you ask for a continuance?"

"Yeah, I've got another week; Judge Blakely gave me a break. I wasn't sure I was going to get it at first. He's not an easy person to read."

"That's probably what makes him a good officer and a good Marine."

Harm gave her an easy smile, "You would know."

"Don't you forget it, flyboy…what about the DNA testing? Gibbs didn't have any objections to your using his staff?"

Harm slipped down off of the table top and gathered the now empty containers from their dinner.

"While I was talking with DiNosso, Special Agent Gibbs…inquired…as to why I was there; that I could have handled this situation with a phone call, in that 'what the hell are you doing here?' tone of voice."

"Friendly guy, huh?"

"Not really, though its hard to dislike him…his testimony and the fact that he continued his investigation, even after my trial began, pulled my butt out of the fire...didn't it?"

"I suppose so…but I don't think it would hurt him to be a bit more…what is the word?"

"Likeable?" Harm smirked. He had a hunch that Gibbs had probably never been easy, he had a reputation as a real hardass, and as far as Harm could tell, he was living up to it.

"That wasn't the word…but it will have to do." She supposed it was a nice way of saying he didn't have to act like such a jerk.

"What did you tell him?"

"The truth… that I had an appointment at Bethesda…it was just as easy to come there and talk to DiNosso, get a look at their file on Petty Officer Petit."

"And…"

"And I just asked him…if I could talk to his Forensics Specialist about identifying my Dad's DNA. He said he didn't have a problem with it, but that she wasn't to work on it on NCIS time."

"Hmm, that's reasonable…and surprising."

"Yeah, I was surprised too."

"He didn't ask any for any details?"

Harm had been standing, while Mac still sat on the picnic table. He reached for her hand, "No, apparently… because of the investigation they conducted on me." He waited a few seconds before he continued; remembering that he'd nearly lost it all, just a couple of months ago. Then he continued, "He already knew about my sponsorship of Sergei…everything." Harm's mind went back to Gibbs' question to him, the night of his arrest.

'_You'd do just about anything for your brother, wouldn't you, Commander?'_

It occurred to Harm that he still would.

Mac could see that he was remembering that terrible time, and thinking they needed to move on. She slipped down from the table and gave his hand a tug. "C'mon, let's walk for awhile."

Later that evening….

NCIS Headquarters

Washington Navy Yard

Forensic Specialist Abby Sciutto was just beginning the process of a new and experimental technique for testing DNA for identification.

Gibbs entered the lab, one of a skeleton crew of NCIS personnel still in the building.

He brought with him Abby's favorite, a Double Caf Pow in its trademark red and white cup, it would be fuel for the long night in the lab she had planned for herself. On nights like this she ran on a cocktail of caffeine, sugar and really, really bad carbs.

"Are you starting already?"

Abby looked back at him over her shoulder, "Yeah…this is pretty cutting edge stuff…and this is the perfect way to test it out."

"Cutting edge? He sat the quart size cup beside the keyboard of her computer.

"Thanks…but, yeah…there have been some pretty awesome advances in DNA matching using different phenotypes, in the past few years….for instance…the conventional wisdom is that since the hair follicle is the only part that contains the live cells…you know, the way your hair grows…anyway, there are some labs out there separating coding DNA and non-coding DNA."

Gibbs silently looked over her shoulder at her computer screen and Abby took a long pull from her straw, then she continued…

"See…the DNA is checked for VNTR…that's...variable number of tandem repeats…that is, they are repeats of a specific DNA sequence…you know… that is repeated after each other."

Gibbs interrupted for brevity's sake. "Abbs…you don't have to break it down."

Abby smiled broadly, "Okay…but if you don't mind….can I… um, ask you something?"

Gibbs pretended to ponder the question, "Depends on the question."

"It's nothing personal….I just wanted to know….why did you let me do this? I didn't think you liked Commander Rabb."

"I never said I liked him."

"Then why are you letting me use the lab, to work on his Dad's DNA…so that it will prove that some Russian guy is his brother."

Gibbs shrugged and looked over at Abby and smiled, "Maybe I'm curious…"

Abby waited for him to continue…but he didn't. So she followed up with another question, since Gibbs seemed to be feeling generous.

"How would the Commander's father have been in Russia anyway?"

Gibbs would only answer, "That's a good question."

"And you're not going to tell me what you think about this, are you?"

"I don't really know that much about it, Abby." Gibbs went back into his 'boss' mode. "As I told you before I don't want you working on this on NCIS time, remember that."

"Oh I won't...I just wanted a chance to try this…on my own."

Gibbs turned to leave but before he left the lab, he turned again and left her with a warning. "Don't talk to anyone about this, Abby…"

She frowned, "I haven't yet…but why?"

"Just do as I say, the circumstances of Commander Rabb's father being in Russia are still in question…and officially…it's not acknowledged by the Russian government or ours"

"Officially? Wow…that sucks." This story was getting more intriguing by the minute and it was showing on her face.

"Abby…" He admonished her.

"Okay…right...yes, sir…I'll keep it to myself."

"Not even McGee." He said as he turned around to leave.

"Gibbs!" That wasn't fair; she wanted to at least tell McGee that she was working on some state of the art testing.

"I mean it." He continued walking as the glass doors that secured the lab opened and then closed.

When he turned in the still open doors of the elevator, he caught Abby's eye through the glass partition that separated the lab from the rest of the floor. She understood his glare was a silent reinforcement of what he'd just ordered her to do. She wouldn't talk to anyone about it….not even McGee.

After the elevator doors closed, Gibbs began to wonder how the senior Rabb had survived his escape, if; in fact, he had been taken to Russia. Siberia was a frozen wasteland….

_February 1980_

_Vorkuta, Siberia_

_As soon as his picture was taken along with Major Viktor Lushov and the rest of his 'escort', prisoner S394652 was loaded onto the train, under heavy guard. The KGB officers who accompanied him went to the more comfortable cars of the train, at least the part of the train that was heated. The car in which he and his guards rode was isolated from the general fare. A few rows of wooden seats were bolted to the floor of the dimly lit car; however, prisoner S394652 was instructed to sit on the floor. It was no easy task given the condition of his left leg, which thanks to these two fine gentlemen, was throbbing painfully._

_He folded his arms and rested them on one of his bent knees. Bending the injured leg was nearly impossible. He rested his head down on his arms, but listened carefully to the two officers who accompanied him. He still did not understand the language, but he'd heard enough over the years, to understand certain words. At least those words with one syllable. Stop, go, yes and no…kill, dead, it was hard to tell the difference between the last two… and some words he'd learned the hard way. He'd learned to be an expert at body language and to read the faces of the guards, as they became familiar to him._

_Ever since he'd known that he was being transferred north, he'd known he had to escape. What Colonel Parlovsky had shown him had nearly broken him, during his last interrogation. The vision of Trish and little Harm that had always sustained him, was shattered by the picture of his wife on the arm of her new husband, and his young son's troubled expression. It had taken away his hope, or at least his hope of returning to anything that resembled the life he had before his aircraft went down in Vietnam. For the first time, he didn't think he could survive another year of captivity, mentally or physically. It was escape now or succumb to the hopelessness and death that had been all around him for years. _

_When he'd asked Viktor to get word to his family that he was alive, though he was the closest thing he'd ever had to a friend since his imprisonment here…Harmon understood how slim the chance was that it would ever happen. That knowledge made him see the truth of his situation and it filled him with a desperation that he had never felt before. _

_As the train traveled north, he listened as his guards laughed and joked with each other; they were drinking, they had been since long before they reached the train station. They were by no means drunk, at least not by Russian standards; they were just getting louder, and no doubt, about to get meaner. Harmon had developed a sense about these things; he always knew._

_Harmon did not look up, but he heard one of the guards approaching him, and before he had a chance to brace himself, a boot slammed into his injured leg. He did not cry out, but the sound was that of a man who had been hit hard and had his breath knocked out of him. _

_He heard the second guard coming toward them, Harmon braced himself again, but this time the guard held back the man who had kicked him. Harmon looked up at the men, they both had undisguised contempt for him on their faces. Through a haze of pain, Harmon heard their voices sharp and urgent, laced with alcohol._

_There was no mercy in the eyes of the guard who held the other back. Harmon didn't understand the words he was saying, he had only warned his comrade that if they further injured his American dog's leg, they'd have to carry him off the train...better they kept him on his feet, so they wouldn't have to soil their hands with him._

_When they backed away from him, they continued to talk to each other, looking back at him from time to time. Harmon decided it would be better to keep his head up from then on, so that he could watch them in his peripheral vision. One of the guards might change his mind and try to pick up where he left off. As he straightened his back and repositioned himself on the floor of the train car, an indescribable feeling came over him. He didn't think he could take another boot from either of them without retaliation, even if they killed him for it._

_This time he was going to be ready for them. _

_After an hour the train began to slow down and then came to a stop. One of his guards exited the train, while the other kept his watch over him. _

_As Harmon watched the guard leave, he knew this was his opportunity. This was the moment. If he was going to escape, now was the time. Viktor's warning about the miles of frozen wasteland was of no consequence to him now. When the guard opened the door to exit the train, Harmon saw that another train was very near theirs, heading in the opposite direction. He hadn't thought any further than getting off of this train and onto the next one; his desperation had made him reckless. He had to get off this train now. He might never have the chance or the strength again…_

_His guard saw that he had been straining to see out the door of the car from where he was sitting on the floor. He barked out an order to stop and was standing over him in a matter of seconds. Instinct and an innate human need to free himself took over Harmon's entire being; fear and any sense of reason was completely gone. He caught the guard behind his knees with his bound hands and pressed his forearm across his neck, pressing down, until he had pressed the life out of him. It did not occur to him that he had just killed a man with his bare hands or that he had watched him die, face to face. He only wanted to live, to survive and get free of this place, that alone drove him, like nothing else could. He found the key to the chains they'd laced over his wrists and around his ankles. He made quick work of it. He could only think of getting off of this train, never being chained or kicked again by anyone._

_Harmon stayed down and crawled, flat on his stomach, using his forearms to pull his body forward, to the connecting door at the end of the car. He slid the door open and used his arms to pull himself the rest of the way out, into the breezeway between the cars. He opened the door on the side that was nearest the train he'd seen going in the opposite direction and flung himself out into the darkness. His feet came down together, the pain shooting up his left leg was nearly blinding, but he held his stance. One track over was the train he thought he'd seen through the window, it was slowing, and had nearly come to a stop. He saw a cargo car with the door open and stumbled awkwardly toward it, looking around him wildly, seeing no one as he neared the train car. _

_Just as he braced his hands on the inside of the car and pulled himself in, he heard the voice of the other guard, calling out. Harmon was sure he'd been found out and that this escape was going to be over before it started. He pulled himself the rest of the way in and peered around the open door. He saw the guard through the windows looking around the car…but not in his direction, so Harmon turned back into the car, pressing himself against the wall, looking around the inside of the car for the first time and thanking God it was empty. Another train was pulling into the station, between the two trains; Harm could see the snow reflecting in the huge light mounted on the front of the train. Great blasts of steam blew from beneath the train as it applied its clanging brakes. Now he was completely hidden from his captors. The train to which he'd escaped, after a few interminable minutes, began moving slowly and as they left the station, it began to pick up speed and taking him to what… he did not know, but it didn't matter, he was free._

_Harmon had pushed the door of the car so that he had only the width of a door opening to the car. The winter cold gusted much more icily, when it blew in through the door as the train traveled south. He knew he risked dying of hypothermia in the cold train car, but better to die trying to be free, than living like a dog on a leash, in this forgotten wasteland. He'd always been able to stand it, always striving to stay alive, with the hope of returning to his family somehow, but now with all he had endured at the hands of Parlovsky, he could not take another day._

_After he'd pushed the door of the train car as far as he dared, he took some of the straw that lay on the floor of the car and pulled it up around him. From the smell of the straw, this car was probably used to transport livestock…but he didn't care it would keep him warm until they reached another station, maybe he could beat Parlovsky's KGB guards. He did not know, he would live moment to moment, hour to hour, but somehow, he would escape them…. somehow._

_Two hours later…._

_The train had stopped and Harmon was jolted awake by the sound of loud voices, the barking of orders in a language he didn't understand. Among the voices, he heard voices he recognized perfectly. Colonel Parlovsky and the two KGB officers who had boarded the train with Harmon earlier that day. They were looking for him. Harmon stood awkwardly and peered around the open door. He saw that about ten cars up, Russian soldiers were searching every car. Standing a couple of yards away from them was the Colonel, observing their search, arms folded in front of his chest. The Colonel looked furious…and Harmon knew…he was probably in a hell of a lot of trouble. 'Good,' he thought, if he died trying to escape, at least his nemesis would pay for what he'd done to him and countless others, who would never be heard from again._

_The wind had begun to pick up, heavy with snow; it was the only cover Harmon had as he jumped down out of the train car. Once again, the pain in his leg as he hit the ground nearly undid him. He staggered and grabbed the inside of the train car to steady himself. He'd closed his eyes for a second and then moving on pure instinct; Harmon bent down awkwardly and crawled beneath the car to the other side of the train. There was an open field, and a copse of barren trees was jutting out of the frozen and snow covered ground. Harmon ran toward it, with everything he had. The wind was picking up and Harmon could only hope it would cover his tracks in the snow. The snowflakes were tiny and felt like tiny flecks of ice blowing into his face. He knew all that anyone on the train had to do, as he ran, was to look out the window in his direction and he would be lost. He strained to hear whether or not they had discovered him, as he ran toward the trees, dragging his leg along behind him. _

_Time seemed to crawl as he struggled across the open field, when finally; he made it to the trees. Once there, he was able to hide in the gathering of their grey and snow covered branches. It was then that he allowed himself to look back at the train. Cars were still being searched, and mercifully, the snow in the open field was blowing across his unusual but very distinct tracks._

_Harmon's breath was coming in quick gasps, as he tried to recover from his run across the field. The cold gripped him suddenly, making him shiver violently. He blew on his hands, and pulled the overcoat more tightly around him. He watched as the soldiers went from car to car, until they had finished their search. The train once again to began to move south, this time without him. After it had begun to pass out of sight, Harmon squinted, trying to see what had become of Colonel Parlovsky and the others who had searched the train. Panic rose up inside him. He couldn't see anyone through the blowing snow; had they gone in the opposite direction? Had they boarded the train and gone south? Had they doubled back on him…were they waiting for him to walk into their trap?_

_He turned away from the retreating train and tried to organize his thoughts, to think of what his next move might be. He began to calm after a few moments then he looked again in the direction of the train. As he watched it get further and further away, the realization dawned on him that he was alone, in this barren and frozen place. There wasn't a sign of life anywhere, as far as he could see. No one was waiting to recapture him, it was time to get moving, before the storm worsened and it became completely dark._

_He looked all around him, and decided to walk toward the hills behind him. Maybe there was a farm or something on the other side of that hill. He turned and walked, pulling his collar up and his hat down, to shield his eyes from the snow that was still swirling up from the ground and down from the dark leaden sky._

_He began to walk, a sharp pain shooting up his left leg every time he took a step, the freezing wind blowing against him as he walked up the small incline. As he neared the top of it, he saw yet another hill, and what he could have sworn was light; it was dim and far away but hopefully from a home or a small town. He began to walk faster, up and then down the hill, then another and yet another. He was sure the next hill would bring him to some kind of shelter. It was getting late and the sky was becoming darker, but Harmon kept walking; his limbs were beginning to feel numb, but he had to keep moving, to find a place to get in from the biting cold. _

_After he had ascended yet another hill he saw a small farm in the distance. Maybe it was a place he could hide in the barn until first light. The wind blew harder against him, and the snow became almost blinding. He leaned into the wind, and pushed toward what appeared to be a light in a window of one of the buildings._

_The strong winter winds made it difficult to get to the barn that sat on the edge of the fenced property, but it's howling also covered any sound the animals would make when a half frozen man stumbled into the back of the barn. When he finally got inside, Harmon turned and fell back against the door, closing it against what was shaping up to be a terrible snow storm. _

_Harmon's legs felt like brittle sticks, his hands felt as though they were covered with sharp pins and needles. He had to get them warm, or he'd loose them to frostbite. _

_He was leaning against one of the stalls, when a cow raised her head and gave him a disinterested look. There was no real heat inside the barn, but the animals were generating enough heat to make the barn seem vastly warmer than the outside. _

_Harmon opened the stall, and stepped inside, meaning to stay inside the large stall, to cover himself with the straw on its floor and rest while he could. He stepped carefully and patted the old milking cow, and said _

"_Take it easy old girl, I just need a corner of this stall, for a couple of hours." Thankfully the animal wasn't skiddish and allowed Harmon inside. He slid down the wall of the old stall and tucked his hands under his arms and settled in for the long night ahead of him. _

_Almost as soon as he sat down, in spite of the cold and the racking pain he felt in his leg, his mind began to wander….Being there, on the farm…. caused his mind to turn to his childhood… to his home when he was a little boy. He remembered doing the daily chores, taking care of the animals with his grandfather. He seemed to slip into a memory dream, in which he could picture his home as it was on any February morning, when he was growing up._

_The old farmhouse sat at the top of a hill on land that had been in his family for generations. A day in his life that had never really seemed anything special to him, was now so beautiful in his memory. The colors were vivid in his dream, the yellow of the house, the red of the barn, even the white snow contrasting the still dark predawn sky. There was nothing that resembled the powdery ice that blew over they frozen ground in this place. In his minds eye he saw the large snowflakes falling, able to discern their shape as they seemed to fall in slow motion to the ground. The sound of the wind and the animals, where he now slept had folded into his dream. The little boy of eight saw his grandfather turn back toward him and smile; he heard his grandfather's voice chiding him to come along, that it would soon be daylight. He heard his little boy's voice answer that he was coming; he felt his grandfather tussle his hair as he caught up with him. _

_The memory dream pulled him more deeply in and he began to rest in it, falling into a deep sleep. Hours passed, as Harmon slept propped against the wall with the winter storm blowing against the barn. Just before dawn, Harmon's consciousness took him to another pleasant dream, to another ordinary day in his adult life. He dreamed of waking up with Trish, her face turned away from him, but her hair spread out on the pillow. He reached out and touched the thick locks, golden blonde and soft, smelling of Chantilly. He heard the sound of a baby crying and Trish turned to him sleepily and said, 'your turn….please?' Harmon kissed her lightly on her forehead and headed for little Harm's room. As he walked down the darkened hallway of their tiny apartment and into little Harm's room, he felt the contentment and safety of that moment…he walked up to the crib and saw his son peering over the rail. He heard his own voice, 'Come on, little guy' he reached down to lift his six month old son out of his crib. With that gesture, reaching down to his son, he returned to the hell that had been his life for over a decade. Suddenly, he was back in Parlovsky's interrogation room, his eyes riveted on a picture of his wife in a wedding gown on another man's arm, his son's troubled face in the background. A mocking voice said 'Your son...so much like you…so much for a young man to endure…maybe we could arrange for a cell…next to yours.' _

_Harmon woke with a jolt, torn away from his dream by the reality of his life now. The sharp edge in Parlovsky's taunting voice, his veiled threat to capture his son and make him suffer the same fate he had for all these years, cut into his consciousness like a knife. It was time to get moving again._

_He struggled to stand stiffly, feeling feverish and unstable on his feet. He stumbled toward the door of the barn and once again out into the elements. The cold air blasted into his open coat as he tried to hurry away from the farm, and out of sight of its owner. It was still dark, but Harmon still feared discovery, though he was still exhausted, he pushed himself on. He had a tight feeling in his chest, and felt short of breath. All he needed was to become sick now, and as if his own body was answering his concerns, he began to cough. _

_After he maneuvered around the fence surrounding the farm, he ducked down between the barbed wire. Dragging his leg along, every step was painful, but he thought that he could walk the worst of it off. Just as he thought he'd begun to get his bearings, he lost his footing on the uneven ground and fell down awkwardly, his injured leg twisted painfully. It was all he could do not to give voice to his pain, but this morning was quiet and still, compared to the sound of the storm last night._

_He tried to stand, but between the instability of his leg, his shortness of breath and almost overwhelming fatigue, he could not do it. He tried over and over again, but to no avail. In his struggling he heard something in the distance. It had to be someone at the farm, he thought. Now the people he had feared would discover him on the farm, were his only hope of survival. He hoped someone would see him, help him get out of this snow and the elements, let him get inside. He had to survive, to live to get home to his son; silence came again and he strained to hear something, anything. Unreasonably, he hoped there would be someone on that farm that would help him. If he could avoid talking maybe they might take him in, give him time to recover…he couldn't help it, he still could not give up hope. He prayed for just one more day, 'Please don't let me die here'…this couldn't be how his life would end._

_As he lay there, his pain, the cold and his fevered mind, seemed to make one moment slide into another. Harmon didn't really know how long he had lain there in the snow, but then he heard footsteps coming toward him. He opened his eyes and saw a man and woman walking toward him, their heavy coats hiding everything but their faces. He tried to look up at the man and then the woman. The man began talking and then the woman, her voice was kind but then they both stopped abruptly, both their faces showed fear, especially the woman. She took one step backward and then started to turn away, but then Harmon called out to her, in a rasping raw voice, that he didn't recognize as his own. She turned back to look at him. Their eyes met and with them he begged her to help him and silently, she complied. In seconds she was on her knees before him, brushing the snow from his face, caressing it and murmuring to him as though he were child. Harmon had almost forgotten what it was like to receive even the slightest gesture of affection. He looked again into her eyes, thanking her, and then felt himself begin to lose consciousness; he wasn't afraid anymore, he was safe. He knew with that one look, that this woman had promised him that she would take care of him, and that he could trust her._

June 8, 2003

Lobianka prison

Moscow, Russia

Mark Sokol sat in his office which was still housed in the Lobianka prison complex. He held a phone to his ear, listening to a report from a contact who had just supplied him with information that caused him great concern. Sergei Zhukov was rumored to have found the burial place of his father. Sokol had made it his business to know the activities of Sergei Zhukov, especially since his return to Russia after living in the United States. He was already well aware that Zhukov would soon be married and that Commander Rabb would be attending his wedding in July. It was only a matter of time now, Sokol was sure, until Rabb found his father's grave. Rabb would insist on taking his body home, and in the process, would reveal to the world what he believed about other American POW's from the Vietnam era being transferred to Russia.

The relationship between the US and Russia, in fact, the relationship Russia had with the rest of the world had been much better than in the days of the Cold War. However, recently, due to some concerns expressed by the US and the EU about perceived Russian human rights violations, those warm feelings had begun to cool.

Rabb could not be allowed to jeopardize things further by opening that proverbial can of worms, too much was at stake.

Sokol ended his call and made another. He set up a meeting with a contact he felt sure would help him keep Parklovsky's nearly 40 year old rogue blunder, from the knowledge of the world.

There was much to do.

TBC

A/N: Just so you know, the information I referenced about DNA is only theory. I was able to extrapolate the DNA theories from an article and discussion on the Science Daily website from September, 2002. No copyright infringement is intended.

The practice of using coding vs. non coding DNA for identification is not yet used as common practice. Great advances have been made using different phenotypes for DNA identification. Unfortunately, many strides have been made out of necessity, as a result of the difficulty of identifying the victims of 9/11 terrorist attacks at the world trade center, a crime scene that was anything but conventional and left very little tissue to identify.


	8. Chapter 8

Wings of the Morning

Chapter 8

Disclaimers: I don't own any of the JAG/ NCIS characters. I don't own any product or label mentioned for the purposes of writing this story. Any similarities to situations or persons living or dead are purely coincidental.

A/N: This chapter will refer to events that took place in the Season 3 episode, 'Ghost Ship'. We will also revisit the episodes 'Ice Queen' and 'Meltdown' from Season 8. I am resurrecting a few of the secondary characters and tying up what I see as a few loose ends.

A/N: We are turning another corner, of sorts; I am attempting to bring together the stories of Harm Sr.'s past in Russia, with all the elements of Harm Jr.'s life, as it was in 2003. By this story's end, I am going to pick up the many threads I've woven over the past year or so, one by one and that will hopefully bring this story full circle. I humbly ask your patience as many of these chapters were written through the pain of fractures and surgery, along with the fog of pain medicine. Bear with me. There will be at least 4 more chapters.

2130

June 8, 2003

Gaeta, Italy

A long forgotten acquaintance of Commander Rabb and Colonel Mackenzie looked out onto the Gulf of Gaeta. He had lived the past seven years as an expatriated American in this beautiful place. Siddy Lonegro was thought to have been a salvage man when he saw Commander Rabb last, but his salvage business had only been a front for a very lucrative information business. Information was sold to the highest bidder, no matter what country, friend or foe, all those years ago; it was only the money that mattered to Siddy. He'd hidden his business well, not even his idiot partner Kochifus, knew what his true intentions were back then, on the USS Hornet.

The view from his terrace was one that many would pay thousands to see. The moon was full and casting its light on the water. It was the picture of serenity…but tonight, he was feeling anything but serene.

His mind was working furiously, trying to process the conversation he'd just had. The phone call came completely out of the blue. It was from Mark Sokol, a man that he believed had been killed years ago, in an explosion aboard the USS Hornet. After the explosions were set, Lonegro left immediately, believing he had burned all his bridges, literally and figuratively. It was only now that he understood, he had not. His hidden sanctuary here in Gaeta hadn't really been hidden at all. Sokol had known where he was all along; he had just been waiting for an opportunity to tap him for a bit of dirty work, a perceived payback for Sokol's past dealings with him. Work that required risk never bothered Siddy, but when it came to working with this particular person, not to mention this particular organization, the KGB, FSB or whatever they called themselves now….he'd rather pass.

**1 hour earlier….**

Siddy stood holding the phone to his ear, his mouth slightly agape, stunned into silence by the voice on the other end of the line…..

"_It was your sloppy work that began this whole mess, and I'll be damned if I'm going to be the one who has to clean it up. I can have no involvement in this whatsoever; too many people in the US already know too much about me as it is. Anyway…the way I see it, you owe me a favor."_

"Owe you a favor?" Siddy croaked…finally found his voice.

"_If you had done as you promised, Rabb would never have known anything. You should have been out of there long before the Navy ever sent Rabb and Mackenzie to the Hornet to investigate what you found in that void." Sokol's voice became more impatient and sharp, "Look, I'm not going to say more; I don't have to convince you of anything, salvage man. I know you will understand when I tell you that our people have an excellent memory and a very long reach. My superiors hold you partially responsible for this mess…the other player in this was killed years ago. If you don't want to join him, you will do as I tell you."_

"Sure..I mean, I just didn't understand…" He still didn't understand… who did he mean, Andy Kochifus? The stupid fool didn't know anything; he'd fed Andy some line about gold being hidden aboard ship. Now, he was dead. Siddy wasn't particularly fond of Kochifus, but the fact that he'd disappeared from the face of the earth without a ripple was more than a bit disconcerting. If the KGB wanted you to disappear, you did, with no one the wiser.

"_Understand this, your mission is here. We have made arrangements to have you flown here; you will find your airline tickets in your personal mail next week. We will discuss just what your mission is once you get here. Oh, and if you are planning on attempting to disappear again, I wouldn't recommend it. I haven't forgotten that you started that fire aboard the Hornet."_

"But I didn't…."

"_Don't bother to deny it. I know exactly what you did. You tried to cover all your mistakes at once, but you failed in that too. You'd better not fail in this, Lonegro. I know exactly where you are and I know your habits. Hell, I even know what you had for breakfast this morning."_

There was silence on the line as Siddy considered asking, 'Why now?' but the little common sense he had told him that he should not.

"_Lonegro?"_

"Yeah…yeah, I'll be there."

"_Rabb will be here in Russia in less than a month to attend a wedding. We don't have a lot of time. If you finish this, I'll forget I ever heard of you. If you don't, you'll wish you never heard of me. Do you understand?"_

Siddy cleared his throat and answered in the strongest tone of voice he'd had since this conversation had begun. "I understand."

"_Good…I look forward to seeing you next week."_ Sokol answered, in a disturbingly pleasant tone of voice and then he ended the call.

Siddy dropped into a chair which sat on the terrace of his small apartment. His mind was reeling as he wondered how they had all escaped. He thought Harmon Rabb was dead along with Sokol and that lady Marine he brought with him. He knew Rabb was out cold in one of the sleeping compartments; when the other two showed up to find him, he thought he had them all aboard ship. He believed that the way the charges had been set, that there was no way anyone could have gotten off of that ship alive.

He shook his head as he thought aloud, "I shoulda known." The whole operation aboard the Hornet seemed doomed from the start. The City of Alameda turned the investigation over to the Navy much more quickly that he thought they would, it turned out one of the Navy investigators had a connection to the book that Siddy was tasked to find and destroy, then Sokol shows up. Sokol's presence could have only meant one thing; he was in a hell of a lot of trouble. Siddy wasn't going to wait around to find out if the KGB had sent Sokol to clean up his botched misson and/or eliminate him in the process. He knew what he had to do.

Siddy Lonegro had been given no choice. As soon as he heard the first of the explosions, he got the hell out of there and out of the country as quickly as he could. He went immediately to Gaeta, Italy. In fact, he was out of the country within the hour. He had a few buddies from his time in the Navy who had retired there. He would lay low, blend in with the other Americans stationed there with the Sixth Fleet. His second generation Italian American heritage made blending in easier still. It had worked, so much so that he'd seldom thought about an assignment that didn't go well in Alameda, seven years ago. At least he didn't think about it much, until now.

The breeze blew gently against the trees that framed the view of the bay that he had from his terrace. The sound was almost comforting in all of his turmoil, until it occurred to him that he was probably under surveillance right now. The thought made him abruptly go back into his apartment and lock the door.

Siddy was right; he was being watched, and by many more individuals than he would ever believe…with diametrically different goals in mind.

1630

June 10, 2003

JAG Headquarters

Mac entered the bullpen just as things in JAG Ops were beginning to wind down for the day. She had been given a message to be in Admiral Chegwidden's office at 1630. As she crossed the room, Harm came out of his office and headed in the direction of the Admiral's office as well.

"Did you get your summons too?" He grinned at her playfully.

"Yes, I did. What do you think it's about?"

"My guess would be that it's about our leave requests." Harm followed Mac into Tiner's small outer office to be announced.

"I've got Commander Rabb and Colonel Mackenzie for you, sir"

"Send them in."

After the usual military formalities, Harm and Mac were seated before the Admiral's desk. He looked at them both and began. "I'm sure you know why I called you here, so I'll just get to the point. - Rabb, your leave request has been granted, but I am unable to spare Colonel Mackenzie."

The Admiral looked directly at Mac for a beat, understanding right away that she hadn't expected to be granted leave…then he leveled his gaze on Harm.

For an unguarded moment, Harm couldn't hide his disappointment but when he caught the Admiral's assessing look, then his expression became a very professional neutral. Harm thought that in those few seconds, more was being considered than ten days leave.

"Do you have a problem with that, Commander?"

Harm answered, "No, sir."

The Admiral studied the Commander, wordlessly, for a moment longer and then dismissed them both.

As both officers came to attention and left the room. Mac glanced over her shoulder, already trying to get a true assessment of how Harm was feeling about the Admiral's decision. Harm was still unreadable, at times. When they settled into her office, she asked, "Are you going to be okay with this Harm?"

Harm closed her office door. "I don't any choice, do I?."

He didn't like this at all, though he thought he understood what the Admiral was doing. He was becoming rather weary of trying to prove to the Admiral that he got it. He wasn't going to take the same risks he had before.

As Mac eased down into her chair, she could now see, how he was feeling, though he wasn't quite looking at her. "Harm, I don't think he's testing you. I really don't think he could spare me; we talked about this."

"I know we talked about this. I can't help thinking that he's doing a bit of both." Harm finally made eye contact with her. "And when did you become a mind reader, anyway, Mackenzie?"

She leaned forward clasping her hands on her desk and interlocking her fingers. "I have many talents, Harmon."

Harm smiled and hitched a brow up, silently agreeing with her.

"If you want the truth, I think the Admiral might be trying to discipline himself, where you're concerned. You almost always find a way around him, Harm." Her eyes took on a mischievous light. "And besides…"

"Don't say it again."

"I can't help it, Harm; you make it too much fun. You are still the son he never wanted."

Harm couldn't keep from laughing, in spite of himself. "Yeah, that's about right."

"Even if he is testing you, it wouldn't be the first time he tested one of us in an area of our lives that might compromise us, professionally."

"When did he test you?"

"The first time, was when I had to defend Chief Holst…remember?"

"Oh yeah…I do remember. As I recall, we almost came to blows over that case."

"You don't know how close."

"Hey, I apologized for that…do you remember?"

She gave him an easy smile. "I do, but you were right. I really did ask to be removed from the case because of my past with my dad. The Admiral refused, he told me that he knew about my family history before he gave me the case. I thought he'd set me up to fail, but he hadn't. I really grew with that case, as an attorney.

"He told me that if I couldn't check my emotions at the door, that I was in the wrong line of work."

"I'm glad you didn't give up."

"I wanted to, but I had a little help from my friends."

He acknowledged the gratitude in her eyes, "The important thing is that in the end, you won. Your past didn't keep you from doing the right thing."

"And your past won't keep you from doing the right thing either." She smiled at him confidently, but she couldn't deny she felt a hint of worry about his going to Russia without her. He was doing great; every thing seemed perfect between them, like a dream. She only hoped their dream would last, whatever happened in the future. She mentally shook her thoughts away and focused on the present. "Are you finished for the day?"

"Yeah, are you packed for the weekend?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I am." She'd been looking forward to this getaway all week.

"What do you say we get started on our weekend right away?" They planned to spend the weekend in Virginia Beach.

"The Strawberry Festival won't really get started until tomorrow. You did promise me, strawberries…dipped in rich, dark chocolate." She drew the last few words out for effect.

Harm laughed easily and answered, "I have every intention of keeping that promise, but..ah, while we're there I want to do a little investigating on my own, it's just a quick interview and then we can get started on our weekend.."

"Concerning the Collins murder case?"

"That's the one. One of the more crucial witnesses seems to have completely disappeared." Harm had located Shelley Griffith; he had a strong suspicion that she had something to add to this case. It seemed strange to him, that she disappeared right after Petty Officer Petit was taken into custody.

"But you found him?"

"I did. 'She' is in Norfolk, and since we're so close…." He raised his brows and gave her his best 'C'mon, Mac' look.

"I suppose I could tag along, since we won't be breeching protocol. The case is going before Judge Blakely."

"Great," He stood and looked out through the blinds on Mac's office door. "Let's get out of here before the Admiral thinks of something else for us to do."

With that, they both closed their offices and were out of the building before 1700.

Earlier that day….

NCIS field office

Gaeta, Italy

NCIS Agent Viv Blackadder sat at her very small desk in her equally small office. She was assigned to one of 6 satellite offices in Italy. She was banished to this 'back of beyond' office a couple of months ago, following a fiasco that involved one, Amad Bin Atwa.

Atwa was a terrorist who was responsible for the planning and participation in the implementation of the attack on the USS Cole. Her brother was a chief petty officer aboard ship and was killed as a result of the blast. Ever since she'd learned that Atwa was involved in the incident, his face haunted her night and day.

She believed that her former boss, Special Agent Jethro Gibbs, saw to it that she was transferred, as far away from any vital mission as possible. He hadn't said so to her directly, but he was her immediate superior and had told her, in the most colorful language, that she didn't belong at NCIS if she couldn't detach herself emotionally and accomplish her mission.

Viv's face still burned with embarrassment as she thought of the confrontation with Gibbs. He'd been furious and dressed her down in front of everyone who was on the pier after the dust settled from the blast. He was practically nose to nose with her when he told her plainly that her mistake had tipped Bin Atwa off, and had given him time to kill himself and any evidence pertaining to his terror cell. They were ordered to take this man alive. Viv couldn't argue that her actions had prevented that, but she wasn't sorry that Amad Bin Atwa was dead.

Viv made her way down the hall for her second cup of coffee. The coffee pot was situated on a small table in the narrow all, which in addition to the coffee pot had thick ring binders stacked precariously beside it. Her new boss, Special Agent Tom Miller called her into his office. He asked her to have a seat and then startled her for a moment with a question.

"What do you know about Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr.?"

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

Wings of the Morning

Chapter 9

Disclaimers: As previously stated

A/N: Many thanks to Karen for proofing this chapter and good wishes out to my friend Jaggie, who definitely has a full plate, so she gets a break. Thanks guys.

2030

Friday

June 8, 2003

Hampton Tunnel

Norfolk, Virginia

Harm and Mac arrived in Norfolk, just as the sun was beginning to set. It was a warm and humid evening, but the light breeze off of the bay brought a welcome drop in temperature near the oceanfront. They had ridden down from DC in companionable silence for most of the drive. As they the came out on the Norfolk side of the tunnel, the carrier piers could be seen in grey blue shadow against the setting sun.

Harm glanced toward the piers, "Looks like the Henry is in port."

Mac looked in the same direction, "Do you know the Patrick Henry by its shape?"

Harm gave her an answering smile.

Mac squinted as she looked back again toward the air craft carrier and the hazy sunset. "I suppose you would, given that you've landed on her deck more than a few times."

As they took the Willoughby exit off of 64, Mac turned to Harm in question. "Willoughby?"

"Willoughby" Harm's smile was mischievous, but he remained focused on the light traffic leading to Bayview Street.

"Submarine races, Harm?"

"No...No submarine races." He gave her a knowing glance. "Shelly Griffith, the witness I told you about, lives near Willoughby Bay. Bay Shore apartments should be just a couple of blocks down…."

As he spoke, the shrill sounds of sirens and horns blaring seemed to be coming from every direction. He pulled to the side of the narrow street and allowed the emergency vehicles and police to pass him.

He followed far behind the vehicles and soon found that they all had the same destination, the Bay Shore apartment building. Harm and Mac walked to the back of the crowd of onlookers and curiosity seekers. They heard more than one person say 'It was just a matter of time.' Along with, 'I knew this would happen.' 'Shelley should never have come back here'

It wasn't long before personnel from the Norfolk branch of NCIS arrived on the scene. The man who appeared to be the lead investigator looked to be in his late 50's, possibly early 60's and Harm could have sworn he'd seen him somewhere before. Hoping he would be able to find out if Shelley Griffith had, in fact, been the victim in this incident, he took out his military ID, and approached the Special Agent.

"Excuse me; I'm Commander Harmon Rabb, JAG Corps….." Realization dawned as the older man turned and looked directly at him. . "Agent…Turkey?"

"That's TurKAY...and who the hell are you?"

He squinted up at Harm through his wire rimmed glasses, and then he saw beyond Harm's civilian attire. "Well, I'll be damned, Commander Rabb…" He glanced at the woman who had just approached them and then, startled, he continued "What the... Did your girlfriend have a twin…what was her name?"

"Her name was Diane…Lt. Diane Shonke." Harm's tone was sharp. 'Some things never change' he thought, the man was still a thoughtless asshole.

"Well, what do you want? I'm sure you didn't come down here for the scenery." He gestured to the surrounding buildings and the still growing crowd of onlookers. "Or to discuss old times" He smirked at Harm, sarcastically.

"I'm here to interview someone who was indirectly involved with a client of mine, her name is Shelley Griffith. From what I could gather…" Harm looked toward the crowd and back again at the special agent. "She may have been the victim here."

"You know I can't talk to you about this case, we've only just begun our investigation." Turkey shot him a disapproving glare.

Both men were distracted when they heard the sounds of struggle coming from the front entrance of the building. Police and NCIS officers trying to subdue a shirtless young man, a very angry man, whose entire body, from his face down to his chest, burned red with rage. "I'll kill that stupid bitch…if it's the last thing I do…she'll never get away…D'ya here me Shelley???…I'll get you!!"

"Knock it off, Griffith…you're in enough trouble as it is…don't make this worse." One of the men in uniform struggling with him warned.

"She's my wife….MINE; I'll say whatever I want to my own wife." He spat and rasped his words, but his captors did not acknowledge him as they wrestled their way to the blue NCIS van.

The EMT's carried the victim out on a stretcher. As they loaded her into the ambulance, her husband, Michael Griffith laughed maniacally. "I hope you die! If you don't, I'll kill anyone else who gets near you. D'ya hear me?" His rant distracted him just enough to allow the NCIS officers the leverage they needed to shove the man into the back of the van and close the door.

Shelley Griffith's bruised and battered face could be seen through the clear oxygen mask placed over it. She was trying to talk and appeared conscious, but it was difficult to tell because her eyes were swollen and bruised, making them appear closed.

Harm and Mac looked at each other, knowing that the events had just answered one question anyway. Shelley Griffith was the victim and unbeknownst to Petty Officer Petit, was very much married to a dangerously violent and unstable man.

"Anything else Rabb? I have an investigation to get on with." Agent Turkey's caustic tone drew Harm back into their previous conversation.

He turned his attention to Agent Turkey, "For the time being, no, but I may need to talk with the victim once she is stabilized. She may have information pertinent to a case at trial next week."

"Talk all you want, just stay out of my way."

Harm smiled down at the Special Agent, without humor. "Nice talking to you, Turkey"

"Hey…that's TurKAY!!"

Harm didn't acknowledge him as he walked back to the Lexus with Mac following just slightly behind him.

"Nice guy, huh?" Mac looked up as she caught up with Harm, seeing his dark and closed expression.

"Not really." Tangling with this 'nice guy' had nearly cost him his career. Knowing he didn't want to talk about Diane or that terrible time in the past, he decided to change the subject. This weekend was supposed to be about them. Shaking off that bad memory, he walked to the passenger side door and opened it.

"Time to get started on this weekend."

Mac slipped past him and thanked him as she settled into her seat.

"Do you want to go out tonight?" He asked after he got into the car.

"Mmm, not really, how about we get settled in, and go for a swim?"

"Sounds good." The dark thoughts really began to lift for Harm as he pondered, Mac, in a bikini, up close and personal. Australia didn't count, Mic was there and very much in the way.

As he looked over his shoulder to check for oncoming traffic, he repeated, "Sounds very good."

2215

Friday

June 8, 2003

NCIS Headquarters

Washington Navy Yard

Washington D.C.

Special Agent Jethro Gibbs sat at his desk in the dimly lit office. Everyone had gone home for the day. He thought he was alone, with the exception of the personnel manning MTAC up stairs.

He glanced up the open stairway to see Director Morrison making his way out of his office, to the open stairway.

"Gibbs. Staying late?"

"Yes, sir. I'm just finishing up"

"Come up to my office before you leave."

Gibbs' eyes followed the director back to his office. It was a late night for the director too. Something had to be up. He finished up quickly and was in the director's office in minutes.

Gibbs noticed an open file on the director's desk as he walked into the room. There was a picture on the open file that caught his eye immediately. It was a picture of Commander Rabb.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes, have a seat."

Gibbs waited quietly.

"I just received a call from one of our satellite offices in Europe, from Tom Miller in Gaeta to be exact. We may have a bit of a situation on our hands."

Gibbs nodded and thought immediately of Viv Blackadder, what had she gotten herself into now?

"Tom has received some intelligence from our Italian counter parts. They reported seeing a lot of known Russian agents in the Gaeta area. Some that hadn't been seen in Europe since the cold war. More agents than they have seen in years. They have also picked up some chatter, chatter in which the name Rabb keeps coming up, along with the name, Sergei Zhukov."

"I believe Zhukov wants to immigrate to the United States, Rabb is his sponsor."

Director Morrison turned a page in Rabbs file, "Blackadder, confirmed that to Miller when he interviewed her this morning. The report here says that he is his half brother."

"Yes, sir, that was his belief. But as far as I'm aware, there is no proof of that."

"I see" The director was quiet for a moment, as though he was pondering carefully what he would say next.

"I have also spoken with CIA Deputy Director Kershaw His people have reported that this Zhukov is to be married in a few weeks, and that Rabb will be attending the wedding. There are concerns about him, since Rabb seems to attract attention, the wrong kind of attention, every time he touches down on Russian soil. Kershaw's people say that Rabb has made it his mission, since he learned of Zhukov's existence, to prove he is the son of an American aviator."

Morrison closed the file. "An American taken by the KGB with the knowledge of the Soviet Union during the Vietnam War" He emphasized the word Vietnam, as though Gibbs didn't understand the explosive nature of this information. The director was silent for a moment.

"There is no reason to believe Rabb will discover any more than he has in the past. We have no reason to prohibit his visit; however, I don't have to tell you how difficult this could become, if he decides to pursue this while he is there for Zhukov's wedding."

"No, sir"

"I think you should pay Admiral Chegwidden and Commander Rabb a visit, call it an insurance policy, against any misstep. This may well be a short visit, for a wedding, but if it becomes something more, it could spin out of control very quickly."

"I'll see them Monday, sir."

"I understand Rabb was here last week."

"Yes, to talk with the agents handling the Collins case, just some follow up. He also asked Forensics Agent Scuito about the feasibility of some of the newer techniques being used for DNA testing."

"DNA testing…in connection with Zhukov and Rabb's father?"

"Yes."

"Why wasn't I informed of this?"

"I assume it was only a discussion about the testing itself. What he believes about Zhukov is a matter of record. I didn't think it would be relevant."

"It is relevant Agent Gibbs. Are any other agents on your team aware of this?"

"No, sir. At least I doubt it. It was a private conversation, sir."

"You will inform Forensics Agent Scuito, that she is not to discuss the subject of her conversation with Commander Rabb with anyone on the team, or elsewhere for that matter."

"Agent Scuito understands discretion, sir, as do all the agents on my team."

"See that they do, Gibbs. That's all."

Gibbs hid his disconcertion about Morrison's demeanor during their meeting. He knew the Director too well. There had to be more to this story. He chose not to inform the director of Abby's work on the new DNA testing, using a sample given to her by Commander Rabb. He hadn't lied; Commander Rabb had come to discuss the new testing techniques with Abby. Gibbs had just left out the part about the actual testing, in NCIS lab, on her own time.

There were two things he could do. He could contact Abby and tell her to stop the testing immediately, which would cover everyone: Rabb, Abby, the director and even himself. The other option was to allow Abby to continue and give the son of a man who lost his life in the service of his country, a connection to him that could never be broken.

The more Gibbs thought about what it must have taken for the senior Rabb to survive, the more determined he became, to allow Abby to continue, the director and anyone else be damned.

February 1980

Zhukov Farm

Siberia

Pitchta looked across the common room in the small farmhouse that was her home. She was looking at a nearly still figure lying on a large bed that was pushed against the wall, near their fireplace. She and her brother had built a bed for their 'visitor' on the first day that they'd found him, nearly frozen to death, near the edge of their property. He was so tall that they could not fit him in either of their beds. It was just as well. She wanted to keep the man in a place where she would be able to watch over him as she tended to her household chores, during the day.

She was relieved he was sleeping so soundly, though she did occasionally place her hand on his chest, to assure herself that he was breathing. The first weeks he had been feverish and restless, his body wracked with coughing. He was barely able to make a sound above a hoarse whisper. There were also chills, when he trembled so badly that she thought he might break through their makeshift mattress onto the floor. She used every home remedy she could. Everything that she had learned from her mother and anyone else in her twenty six- years

Caring for him had not been easy. Her youth and inexperience had not helped in the beginning. He would take very little broth but with coaxing, he would take enough to keep him alive. She bathed him with cool water when he was feverish, and bundled him when he felt chilled. Over the past two days, he had been resting more comfortably, his fever had finally broken and his coughing had begun to subside.

He had frightened her, more than once when his fever made him delirious. He would look at her from time to time, though his eyes were out of focus, not really seeing her at all. There were times when he whispered a word that she did not understand. At one point, she'd been trying to comfort him, stroking his face and neck with a cool cloth when he suddenly clasped her wrist. "Trish….Trisha" he'd whispered the word again. She had been started by his sudden movement, but he'd released her and returned to oblivion, almost as soon as he'd grasped her wrist. She understood now that he was not only sick and broken of body, but also of heart. The sadness in his glazed eyes was unmistakable. It was for this reason that she'd cared for him nearly 24 hours a day, with little rest for herself. Keeping him alive was her primary focus, so much so that she could not bear for him to be out of her sight.

She was feeling relieved, sitting in the rocking chair with a blanket on her legs. Pulling the blanket up to her chin, she watched the rise and fall of her silent one's chest, she drifted off to sleep.

Hours later…

Harmon lay on a wood framed pallet of soft fur in a darkened room. As he began to wake, for the first time in nearly a month, the need to return to sleep tugged at his eyelids. He felt so warm and comfortable that for a few seconds, he hadn't been sure he was still alive. He sensed the warmth of the room, and the softness of the bed beneath him. It permeated through his skin, suspending him in comfort. After drifting in and out of this comfortable sleep, he opened his eyes into a dark room, looking up he saw wooden rafters of the ceiling, slightly illuminated by flickering light. He drew in a breath and tried to move his arms and legs. The pain receptors in his body, especially those in his leg, responded reminding him that he was indeed, still alive.

"Ah, there it is" he thought. It was his old friend, pain. He moved slowly, feeling the first time, bandages on his legs and small bandages on his hands.

With effort, he turned his head to see the small figure of a woman; she seemed to him, a very young woman. Short wisps of blond hair framed a pixie face, which rested on a blanketed hand, propped on the arm of her rocking chair. Harmon remembered now, he remembered the face of the woman whose face seemed to float toward him through a haze of ice and snow. The sound of her voice, the look in her eyes, had given him hope.

Sensing that he was awake, Pitchta opened her eyes. When she saw him looking at her, she was on her feet immediately. "Tein Tein" she said, calling him by the name she'd already given him, the one meaning, 'silent one'. She nearly ran to his bedside and without thinking stroked his cheek, startling him and herself. She brought her hand down, clasping it in her other and said his name again.

Her thoughts went immediately to his care, he must eat, and he must drink. She had to get him up, help him get on his feet. She was so happy and relieved that he was still alive, her mind was racing, she hadn't thought about what she would do when he woke up. What to do first? She decided, sitting him up was the first thing she should do. She wanted to talk to him, see him sitting upright, as a person in the living world. She chattered on, going about helping him to sit up on the side of the bed.

Harmon did not protest, though sitting up was painful. He tried to help her as much as he could, but soon discovered he had become very weak as a result of his apparently long convalescence. His body felt stiff, and awkward and sitting up right made his head spin.

Pitchta stepped back from Harmon and studied him for a moment. She decided that he looked much better; he looked strong, though much to skinny. As Harmon tried to keep himself upright, she decided she should try to give him something to drink. She quickly brought a cup to him and he reached for it with trembling hands, she steadied them and guiding the cup to his lips. He drank the water deeply, and she felt very pleased with herself. She put the cup aside and stood beside Harmon, trying to help him steady himself, as he sat on the bedside. Even with her help he seemed to have trouble and then suddenly, he was sick.

She quickly helped him back into bed and cleaned everything up, including Harmon. She realized her error immediately and felt like such a silly fool for letting him drink so much, when he'd had so little on his stomach. She should have known better, hadn't she taken care of her mother before she died? She was young, but she wasn't foolish, and now, she'd made things worse for this poor man. She wiped his face and then placed a cool clean cloth on his forehead. She sat by his bedside, silently fretting that she'd done anything to hurt him, she'd only done what she'd known to do.

It was nearly an hour before he felt well enough to open his eyes and when he did, she breathed an audible sigh of relief.

As she straightened his blankets her expression must have told Harmon was she was feeling, for he caught her hand so that she would look directly at him. He shook his head slightly, as if to tell her, not to feel badly. In her own language she asked him if he was alright. Understanding her meaning but not her language, he nodded and looked at the cup, indicating that he wanted another drink; he brought his thumb and forefinger up, to show her that he only wanted a little sip, this time. If he hadn't been feeling so poorly, his smile might have been considered playful as he looked at her through beautiful, but very tired eyes.

Her face flamed as she plumped his pillows and helped him raise his head, though she could not help smiling at this silent wounded creature. He still had a spark of light in his eyes, after all he must have endured. After she gave him his small drink and settled him back into bed, he caught her by her hand again, and he thanked her, with his eyes. She shyly nodded her acknowledgement and returned to her chair, to watch over him.

Harmon watched her walk back across the room, this young woman who had saved his life. He knew he had a long way to go, but he knew he was not alone on this road to recovery. The judgment call he'd made in that desperate moment, when he first saw her had been correct.

He could trust this woman with the pixie face and piercing blue eyes.

1730

Sunday

June, 10, 2003

Sandbridge Beach

Virginia Beach, Virginia

Harm and Mac stood on the deck of the cottage in which they had just spent their weekend. Harm had followed up on a suggestion given to him by the Admiral. One of his old commanding officers had a cottage that his family rented, when they weren't using it themselves. It was one of the few real cottages left on the oceanfront of Sandbridge Beach. Multi million dollar homes and high rise condos were springing up, nearly next door to the comparatively small Dutch colonial cottage.

Mac looked out at the perfect blue of the Chesapeake Bay at that moment. They were getting ready to load the Lexus and head back to DC and real life. The weather had been perfect, they'd been able to do everything they planned, the Strawberry Festival, Back Bay, swimming in the ocean and even in the pool that happened to be in the back yard of this cozy little place.

"Oh, Harm, I don't want to go back…let's just stay here."

Harm slipped his arms around her, from behind and nuzzled her neck. "I don't either, but this is a rental…"

"Let's just buy it."

"Oh, yeah…you got a million and a half hidden away somewhere, Mackenzie?"

She laughed and closed her arms over his, hugging them close. "Hey, that's just chump change, I can handle it."

"Okay, Mac. I'll call the realtor for you." He teased.

Mac laughed and turned in his arms so that she was facing him. "Nah…better not, I'll save that money for a rainy day."

Harm kissed her. "Smart girl."

He leaned back and studied her face for a moment. "You really had a good time this weekend?"

"Are you kidding, I loved it. It was just what we needed."

"It was, but, we had a few detours on our way to a good time. I'm sorry I had to follow up on that witness yesterday." They had gone to see Shelley Griffith in the hospital, the day before.

Mac's face was suddenly serious. "It was okay, Harm. I would have done the same thing. Your clients freedom was at stake."

Harm looked at her thoughtfully, unsure whether he should broach the subject of Shelley Griffith again. It had been awkward, when Ms Griffith tried to explain to Harm, during his interview with her, why she hadn't divorced her husband and why she hadn't told anyone about him.

Mac seemed to read his thoughts, "Harm, I'm okay."

"I had no idea things would go the way they did."

It had all come together so quickly. While they were visiting Ms Griffith, Harm got a surprising courtesy call from NCIS. Agent Turkey reported that he had gotten a confession from Michael Griffith, while he was custody Friday night. This would exonerate his client of the murder charges.

"It was alright, I think I understand Shelley Griffith very well." She turned away from him, slowly as she spoke and walked a few steps away. "

She didn't tell anyone about her abusive husband, she just ran away. She didn't divorce him because that would have required her to bring him back into her life, and she wasn't strong enough to do that yet. In the meantime, she goes on with her life, but he finds her, and tries to isolate her again. He threatened her…threatened her friends, it was a catch 22, no matter what she did, she lost." She turned back and looked at him, her eyes sad and distant somehow. She shrugged her shoulders.

Without a word, he walked over to her and gently pulled her into his arms, remembering all that Mac had been through with her husband, Chris. He'd been on her side back then, but he hadn't really understood, until now.

"I think the only thing that saved me, grounded me, back then, was JAG, the Marine Corps." She hugged him tightly to her. "And you."

"We're past all that now, Mac."

Mac tilted her head, leaning against the strong column of his neck, "We are."

TBC

Definitions:

MTAC- Multiple Threat Assessment Center, located inside NCIS headquarters (it is in the show anyway)


	10. Chapter 10

-1Wings of the Morning

Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these JAG characters. I don't own any product or label mentioned for the purposes of telling this story.

A/N: Many thanks to Karen for her proofing and bearing with me on my many tries to send her an attachment from my (grrr) Vista laptop. Thanks also to those you are still following this story.

1625

Wednesday

June, 13 2003

National Naval Medical Center

Bethesda, Maryland

Mac approached Commander McCool's office her characteristic punctuality, still very much in place. She was feeling confident, sure she was doing well enough with her counseling to be released from treatment soon. She shuddered inwardly, thinking of the word 'treatment.' She'd followed orders, and in the process learned a lot about herself, surely there wasn't much more to cover on the subject of PTSD.

She had to admit that Commander McCool had been right about some of her issues and, although the Admiral's insistence that she undergo treatment had been a hard pill to swallow, she knew now, it had been a wise decision.

She checked in with the petty officer who acted as the Commander's receptionist and seated herself in her outer office.

Her thoughts turned to Harm and the weekend before. It had been perfect, just what they both needed. They'd wandered aimlessly, through the strawberry festival. It was one of many held in this part of Virginia, at this time of year. They had 'strawberry' everything. Pancakes, shortcake, ice cream, and of course fresh strawberries dipped in the richest chocolate.

She smiled as she remembered how Harm complained about how much sugar they were taking in, as he took yet another bite of his strawberry blintz. He'd resumed his running schedule and though she'd never tell him, he didn't look as though he had anything to worry about. She loved their lives as they were now, even with all that happened since they'd deepened their relationship…being with Harm had been nearly perfect….

"Colonel?"

Mac was brought back to reality by Commander McCool's voice.

Mac stood quickly and smoothed the skirt of her uniform. " Sorry Commander, I was wool gathering."

"No problem at all, it looked as though you were having a very good daydream." Commander McCool gave her an inquisitive look.

Mac nodded and smiled shyly. "Harm and I, that is Commander Rabb…my…"

Mac didn't know what to call him…boyfriend sounded so…juvenile, he was more than a friend, but he wasn't her fiancée, there was nothing else to call him…

"boyfriend and I, went to a strawberry festival, near Virginia Beach…we spend the whole weekend in the country…it was great."

"The Pungo Strawberry Festival?"

Mac laughed softly, it was a odd name, but a great festival. "Yes that's the one."

"My husband and I never miss it, but this year…we just couldn't get away. Our daughter had a soccer tournament, the last one of this season and we couldn't miss that. It was a rare occasion, we were both there together."

Mac smiled, wondering how she and Harm would ever work out their lives to include another person, they did well to find time to be together as it was.

They both settled into their prospective seats, Commander McCool at her desk, and Mac in one of the cushioned chairs before her.

"How are things progressing with your online group?"

"I have to admit, it has been enlightening, people from every level and branch of the military."

McCool raised her brows, "Any, soccer moms?"

Mac blushed self consciously, when she remembered their first

session in which she'd informed Commander McCool that she was no reservist soccer mom, that she was different…a professional.

"Yes, there were…. Along with some posters that were career military. I was surprised, frankly at how candid they all were."

"Did you see anything that you recognized in those posts, anything comparable to your experience?"

Mac was thoughtful for a moment, "Yes and no." She couldn't give her counselor or anyone else, the details of her mission with Webb and there was certainly nothing like that online. She continued, "I saw posts from women who had served as far back as the first Gulf War…Bosnia."

"Your service record indicated you were in Bosnia for 6 months?"

" I was TAD to Naval Forces Europe from Quantico LSO. I replaced a female JAG who became pregnant just before the unit deployment." Mac's unpleasant memories of Bosnia came instantly to her mind and were evident on her face.

"Colonel?"

"I'm sorry, it was tough….I mean, it was just six months, but the first weeks were the worst."

"How so?"

"Let's just say I heard every opinion of….female….Marines. There were times when the term "female' made me feel more like another species, than the opposite gender."

"Go on."

"It was no big deal, I've certainly heard worse. But… I overheard what some of my colleagues thought about women, they believed my predecessor used pregnancy to avoid a difficult deployment."

Commander McCool smiled knowingly. 'I cant say that is the first time I've heard that opinion. Did they say this to you directly?"

"No…but usually within earshot…so that I could hear what was being said."

"Did you report this to your superior?'

"No, they didn't address me directly, so I had no proof…and anyway…I was too busy trying to prove myself to dwell on what they said. If anyone had really threatened me I would have. I guess this is where having Joe MacKenzie as my parent, paid off. What they said was nothing, compared to the things my dad would say when he came home, after a long night of drinking."

"That's one way to look at it." The Commander smiled.

"In the beginning, my tour in Bosnia was a…what would I call it? A quiet…. but hostile, environment."

"How did you resolve the problem?"

"I didn't, it wasn't my problem. I had the training to do the job, I did it. As bad as that was, what troubled me most, during that time, didn't have anything to do with them…it was part of the civilian population that were the most difficult to deal with."

"Your record indicates that you served with distinction"

Mac nodded and voice in a whisper, "yeah"

"Was the deployment really, difficult? You seem to be saying one thing, but your demeanor appears to say something different."

"My role was basically administrative. I did participate in some investigations, mostly routine. It wasn't that bad. Not really…not for me, anyway. "

"If not for you, then for whom was it difficult?"

"I witnessed a lot of….brutality, or the aftermath of it. Even today, it is hard for me to see anything I was going through, back then, that would compare to what I saw. Frankly, what I understood of brutality, completely changed after that deployment. I saw things and experienced things there that I will never forget and even today, I don't understand."

Commander McCool sat forward and leaned on her folded arms.

"Go on."

"Most difficult for me, were the children. It very conscious of how I was perceived by the other members of the unit. There was really no one to talk to about this. I'm not saying I was the only one who saw the injustice of it all, but I felt as though they were waiting…waiting for me to become emotional…to say I couldn't handle it. I was determined to prove to them that I could do my job, as well as any of them. Whatever I felt, I kept to myself."

The Commander nodded, "Obviously, you did do well."

"I suppose so…anyway, the orphans, children who became orphans as a result of the conflict affected me most of all. We built schools clothed and fed them. But it seemed so inadequate compared to what was really needed, especially for many of the girls."

Mac seemed to return to the time and place… "It was as though they were pawns. Serbs raped women, by the hundreds to shame their fathers and husbands."

" If a woman survived the ordeal or escaped, she was still treated as an outcast by her own family. As though the rape had been her fault, so it was her shame and by association, it became the shame of her family. The girl might be disowned, or even murdered by her family. Honor killings, they called them." Mac scoffed.

"Did you deal with a situation like that directly or was it, as you said earlier…the aftermath"

Mac was pensive for a moment and then smiled, without humor. "There was no after math for these women and girls, it was a continuous nightmare."

"There was one case that I had some difficulty putting behind me.The unit I was serving with found a girl, half frozen and nearly starving to death, while on patrol, just outside Tuzla. We were called into an orphanage, near there, to settle what we thought was a minor dispute, a matter of where the child would be placed. "

Mac stopped speaking for a moment, remembering the thin pale face of the girl, just 12 years old, whose eyes were devoid of light.

"Colonel?"

Mac continued, "It turned out that the girl was pregnant. The headmistress had thrown her out of the very orphanage that the Marines thought would take her in, without question.

She had been taken in to the orphanage a 5 or 6 months before. It had come to the attention of the head of the facility that the girl was pregnant. Her pregnancy has progressed so far that she could not hide her condition beneath her clothes any longer. The girl explained, through an interpreter, that she had nowhere else to go, her family, what was left of it, did not want her. The only way to survive was to say that she had been orphaned so that she would at least have shelter and food. She didn't beg or plead with them to allow her to stay, she didn't plead with us. She merely told them that she had no where else to go.

"I never really understood, why I felt so compelled to help her.

Her story was one of thousands, all equally terrible, full of more injustice than you can imagine."

Commander McCool sat quietly as Mac continued.

"I just wanted to help this girl, you know? She was so young, she'd been abandoned by everyone and even our efforts to help her, weren't enough."

"How do you mean…your efforts weren't enough?"

Mac looked down at her hands and clasped them together in her lap. "We were able to convince the authorities at

the orphanage to allow her to stay, but, she didn't stay….she left in during the first night. We were told that she left on her own, she was found the next morning, lying dead, along a road that lead to one of the refugee camps. The authorities said she'd been struck by a vehicle of some sort….that no one really saw what happened."

Mac felt a tear slip down her cheek. "I don't know why I feel this way about it. I saw this girl…maybe three times.

"I will never forget her face…her eyes watching me, when I spoke to her interpreter, or the headmistress of her orphanage. There was no expression at all, no hope, not even curiosity. I wanted to prove to her that she could survive, that even though this terrible thing had happened to her, that there were good people in the world…that there was hope."

"You did an honorable thing Colonel."

"I wanted to investigate the accident…that's what it was called, an accident." She wiped her tears from her face, composing herself. "But, my CO felt that pressing the issue would not be a very…..fruitful, endeavor."

Mac smiled, "The incident really didn't fall under our jurisdiction, I understood that. I didn't get emotional, as I believe I was expected to do. There are times I feel as though I should have done more, I have wondered if my own concerns about how I would be perceived might have kept me from pursuing the issue.

She shook her head, "And since…I know how to follow orders, I did my duty and started counting the days until I returned to the States."

"You made the right decision, Colonel."

Mac was quiet for a moment, started to speak, then stopped herself.

"Go on Colonel."

"No, I've said enough…there isn't really anything more to say."

"Have you ever discussed this incident with anyone?"

"I spoke with my Uncle Matt, he…is a Colonel, in the Marine Corps. It helped to know, he had his own experiences, things he didn't discuss, that had haunted him. He told me it came with the territory, that I hadn't signed on with the Camp Fire Girls."

"That seems rather harsh."

"It wasn't really, you had to know Uncle Matt. He was a good friend, my mentor really. He's the reason I joined the Corps." She wouldn't bring up the fact that Uncle Matt was serving out his sentence in Leavenworth. If she opened that can of worms, she'd never be done with this 'treatment'.

"Have you ever talked to anyone else about it….to Harm?"

"No…I hadn't met Harm yet…this happened the year before I came to JAG. There was really no one, beside my Uncle Matt, that I felt close to, that I trusted."

"You told him later, then?"

"No, I didn't know that I could trust him, in the beginning. By the time I felt close enough, it seemed a part of the past I wanted to leave behind me."

"You and Commander Rabb….Harm, have been friends, for a long time?"

Mac smiled warmly, "Yes, we met about, 7 years ago, we were colleagues…competitors and then we became closer…

"And now?"

"We obviously became more than friends. We're great." Her tone slightly defensive. She didn't like where this seemed to be going. She didn't want to dissect her relationship with Harm, it was good, that's all anyone needed to know.

"We'll stop here for now, Colonel." Commander McCool sensed Mac's feelings and decided this wasn't the time to begin the deep subject of 'Harm'.

Mac was slightly startled by the abrupt end to their session. As she rose, she asked the commander if she could give her a timetable as to when she would be finished with her counseling. After today, she wanted to be done with this, more than ever.

"You are making excellent progress Colonel, you've been very forthcoming and cooperative in our sessions."

"Great…so when do you think we'll be winding this up." Mac raised her eyebrows hopefully.

The Commander smiled at her as she rose from her chair and walked with Mac to her office door.

"We have one more aspect of PTSD that we should address, before I release you from treatment."

"I thought you said I was doing fine…excellent progress…you said?" Mac could not keep edge out of her voice.

"You are doing well, Colonel, and I'm planning to scale back the frequency of your sessions before I release you completely."

The calm quiet voice was beginning to grate on her nerves. She felt as though the Commander was dragging this out, unnecessarily.

"I see."

"I'll see you next week, Colonel."

Mac was already near the outer office door, she stepped through it without looking back.

2130

Wednesday

June, 13 2003

Paretti residence

Naples, Italy

It was a beautiful June night, a light breeze was filtering in through the sheer draperies that covered the windows of one of the bedrooms in the spacious villa. Marcella Chegwidden Paretti breathed in the scent of the sea combined with the moonflower that grew in her garden. Nights, such as this one, made her miss her former husband, even more than usual. It hadn't quite been two weeks since AJ returned to his home in America, but it seemed an eternity for her.

She smiled as she thought. "Why should I wait?" There was no reason that she couldn't be with AJ now. She would speak with Francesca, maybe she would come to the States with her and, of course, bring Alberto along. She wanted to surprise AJ, it seemed fitting to come back to him. The same way she'd left him, all those years ago…like a thief in the night.

_An ocean away….._

AJ sat in the large leather chair, behind his desk, in his office. He was debating with himself whether he should give Marcella a call, invite her here, to his home. He felt like a schoolboy, but he couldn't help himself, he missed her. He missed their grandson. He didn't want to make Marcella feel pressured. He knew she wanted to stay near Alberto, but he needed her…here. As he reached for his phone to have Tiner put through a call to Naples, he was startled by Tiner's voice.

"You have the SecNav, on line 4, sir."

"Damn" he thought. The call to Marcella would have to wait.

1930

Wednesday

Mac's apartment

Georgetown

Mac was in her kitchen, on her hands and knees scrubbing her kitchen floor, for all she was worth. She'd stopped by to do some laundry and try and work off some steam before she saw Harm that evening. That had been 2 hours ago. She noticed a small spot on the tile, in front of her refrigerator and immediately decided a complete cleaning of the kitchen was in order.

A good run or work out was a good stress reliever, but somehow, scrubbing the hell out of something was more satisfying, just now.

Mac heard her cell phone's familiar tone and reached to pick it up from where it lay on her kitchen counter.

"Colonel Mackenzie."

It was Harm. "Hey, Colonel Mackenzie…where are you?"

"Oh…hey, I'm at my apartment…..cleaning."

"Cleaning?"

"Yeah, after my session with Commander McCool I decided to…stop by my apartment, do some laundry and then….I don't know how I got started in here. Now I have everything taken out of my cabinets, and …uh, I'm cleaning my kitchen floor…." This really did sound weird, but she decided she didn't need to explain it, she'd just tell him the truth and hope he wouldn't ask questions.

Harm knew she had an appointment today, and whom she'd had the appointment with.

"Did everything go okay today?"

Mac was quiet for a moment, she didn't want to talk about this today.

"It was okay, I think I just need some time….you know."

"Taking your frustrations out on your kitchen floor, Mackenzie?"

She could help smiling, he knew her so well. "Something like that. Um, go ahead and have dinner. I'll call you later, okay."

"Sounds good."

Mac ended the call and returned to scrubbing her floor. Harm looked at the dining room table in his apartment. The one he had just set, and the dinner he'd made steaming on the kitchen island, waiting to be served.

_Much later that evening…._

Mac had finished with the last of her cleaning tasks and stood looking at her gleaming kitchen. All her hard work probably hadn't been necessary, but it had been needed. She could handle her present situation a bit longer, and though this treatment seemed endless, she would get through it. She had wanted to work out her frustrations before she saw Harm and she had. Now to call him, as she'd promised.

She began to dial his number when she heard a knock at her door. Looking through the security lens, she saw Harm.

She opened her door, to find him standing there, with two large grocery bags.

"Hey! I was just getting ready to call you." She took one of the bags. ""What's this?"

"Thought you might want some dinner."

He followed her into her kitchen and they both began to take the food out of the bags and place it on the counter.

"This looks great Harm. Did you do this yourself? I thought you were bringing take out."

"I made a little dinner, thought I might as well bring it over."

Mac opened one of the containers. "Harm….you made beef..teriyaki, you actually cooked… beef, for me?"

"What can I say?"

She reached again into the bag, and found a smaller plastic bag. The bag contained a small paper tub containing Mac's favorite ice cream. 'Death By Chocolate'.

She turned to look at him, "Oh Harm…my favorite." She threw herself into his arms, all the while, holding onto her chocolate treasure. "I love you!"

Harm pulled back from her embrace, just enough to look into her eyes. "I know….I'm irresistible." He hitched an eyebrow up, teasing her.

Mac was suddenly so glad to see him and so touched by his gesture that she didn't even take the bait. "You are." She reached up and framed his face in her hands and kissed him. "Mmm, thank you thank you, thank you."

Harm held her loosely in his arms and laughed, "You're welcome."

Mac was suddenly aware that she smelled of disinfectant and what ever else, from cleaning all evening. "I'm a mess."

"You are…but that's okay…I know you clean up really well, Mackenzie."

She studied him for a moment, her eyes lit with mischief and her heart swelling with gratitude that he'd done everything he had for her. On top of that, he wasn't pressing her to talk about anything. She needed him and she needed to laugh and as always, he was there.

Harm opened a cabinet to take out a dish for her. "Let me get this warm for you, and you get cleaned up."

"Sounds like a plan." Mac started for her bedroom.

Mac quickly showered and found Harm still in the kitchen. She slipped her arms around his waist and peeked at him around his shoulder. Her hair was combed back from her face, her amber eyes, sparkling. "Hey Sailor, you want to stay here tonight?"

Harm feigned disinterest. "Oh…I might be… persuaded.

10:15

Thursday

June 14, 2003

Judge Blakely's Chambers

Harm and his client, Petty Officer Petit stood before the judge. The murder charges against the petty officer had been dropped. Harm had also been able to negotiate a resolution to the lesser charge, an Article 134 infraction, the wearing of unauthorized insignia. In Petty Officer Petit's case, the wearing of a Bronze Star.

Judge Blakely addressed the petty officer directly.

"Since the charges against you, in the case of the murder of Petty Officer Collins have been dismissed. Your attorney has argued for leniency on your behalf. As you may be aware, the maximum punishment for an Article 134 infraction is a bad conduct discharge, forfeiture of all pay and allowances and up to 6 months of confinement.

"Yes, sir" The petty officer's expression was grave.

"After careful consideration of Commander Rabb's arguments on your behalf, you may remain in the naval service, however it is my decision that you receive a reduction in rank, to the level of E-4, effective immediately."

The corners of the young man's mouth tuned up just slightly, he was relieved that he hadn't lost his chance to have a career serving in the Navy, that he was unable to completely suppress his smile.

"I'm not finished, Petty Officer."

The smile left the young man's face immediately.

"The wearing of unauthorized insignia is a very serious charge. It is even more serious that you chose to wear the Bronze Star award, when so many of its recipients have lost their lives and limbs, while earning the award."

He glanced at Harm. "The Commander has proposed an extended EMI, with the approval of your commanding officer. You will be serving TAD, for 6 months at the National Naval Medical Center at Bethesda. You will report to the Master Chief of the Command on the Orthopedic floor."

The petty officer looked stunned for a moment.

Judge Blakely kept his steady unexpressive gaze on the petty officer for a long moment. It was not a sympathetic look, nor was it harshly judgmental. The judge was giving him an opportunity to right a wrong, and keep his life intact. He couldn't have asked more than that.

"Yes, sir"

"Would you like to add anything Commander Rabb?"

"No, sir."

"Then you are dismissed, good luck to you, Petty Officer."

After Harm and Petty Officer Petit left the judge's chambers, the younger man spoke, "Thank you, sir."

"I was just doing my job, Petty Officer."

The petty officer felt even more ashamed of his actions in the face of all the Commander had done for him.

"Yes, sir." The petty officer decided the less he said the better and just as he had begun to think his attorney was eager to wash his hands of him, he seemed to make a 180 degree turn.

"Since you are to report to Bethesda right away, and I have business there today, you can ride along, if you like."

"That would be great, sir. Thanks a lot, it'll save me cab fare."

0646

Friday

June, 15 2003

Shermyetevo Airport

Moscow, Russia

Siddy Lenegro rose from his narrow seat stiffly and prepared to deplane after his long flight. He was tired, but anticipation of meeting his old 'friend' Mark Sokol had kept him wide awake for most of his flight.

His pulled his single bag from the storage above his seat and began to make his way off of the plane and into the jet way. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd had the whole flight. He felt as though he was being watched, though when he'd tried to feign sleep and make observations of his own, no one looked to be paying more attention to him than usual. Maybe it was his imagination. Maybe everyone in Russia thought they were being observed, he smirked as he walked into the concourse. A taxi was to be waiting, according to the information that had been provided to him, along with his tickets.

Siddy's first instincts had been correct. Behind him, a stewardess who had been watching him since he boarded, walked at safe enough distance, not to be noticed. The young woman was model thin, frosted blonde, with large brown eyes. Her demeanor gave the impression of a woman barely intelligent enough to find her way out of the airport. This was a carefully crafted persona that she had spent months perfecting. She appeared to be a silly and harmless girl, but she was anything but silly and Siddy would know, soon enough, that she was anything but harmless. She spoke laughingly into her cell phone, in what seemed a very animated conversation. The conversation was in fact anything but light. The voice on the other end of the line told her that she'd done well. As she ended the call, another Aeroflot stewardess called out to her, begging her to take her next flight.

As she spoke sympathetically to her coworker, she took two steps backward, bumping into a trash receptacle behind her. She surreptitiously dropped her disposable and untraceable cell phone into the trash and continued her conversation.

There was much to do, and many roles to play.

This was only the beginning.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

_Wings of The Morning_

_Chapter 11_

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of the JAG characters. I don't own any product or label mentioned for the purposes of telling this story. Any similarities to situations or persons living or dead are purely _

_Coincidental._

_A/N: Thanks to Karen, for her proofing and words of encouragement._

_1645_

_Monday_

_June 18, 2003_

_JAG Headquarters_

_Harm was summoned to Admiral Chegwidden's office just he was getting ready to secure for the day. After the usual military protocols Harm was seated in front of the Admirals desk._

"_I have a few things to discuss with you. "_

_About the Petit case." The Admiral peered at him over his reading glasses. " Good investigation. Your recommendations for EMI were just what was needed in that case. "As a matter of fact, I got a call from Judge Blakely Friday, and for once, it wasn't to express a concern about one of my attorneys. Well done."_

_Harm was studying the Admiral as he answered, "Thank you, sir." He was waiting for the other shoe to drop._

_The Admiral glanced down at the open file in front of him. "I have your latest progress report from Captain Miles."_

_Harm sat up straighter in his seat, unaware that he had done so._

"_You're doing well Commander, he has expressed some concern with regard to your belief that Sergei Zhukov is your brother. He called me personally, as a matter of fact. I assured him it was entirely possible that he was, but of course,". The Admiral smiled wryly. "I didn't explain why I felt it was a possibility, and he seemed to accept that."_

_It occurred to Harm that Captain Miles hadn't pressed the issue in their recent session. In fact, he'd told Harm that he would only require one session a week, when he'd seen him last. That had to mean that his was nearly finished with his counseling. "Okay," he thought, "this can't be all." It all sounded too good to be true._

"_However, the report also alludes to your tendency to take on more responsibility with regard to the people who are closest to you."_

"_Here it comes," Harm thought, he knew this meeting with the Admiral couldn't be just an 'Atta boy'_

_He looked directly at Harm, seeming to say, without words, that this was the problem that had helped land him in counseling in the first place._

"_The question is Commander, are you getting the point of this exercise?"_

_Harm had to work very hard not to show how frustrated he was beginning to feel. What the hell did the Admiral want from him? He' hadn't given anyone any reason to doubt his intentions, certainly not the Admiral._

_The Admiral spoke, as if he'd been able to read his thoughts._

"_You have done as you were ordered Commander, but you are not out of the woods yet. Not with me. You have met the criteria I set forth for you in order to resume your career….and that's something._

"_But, the way you conduct yourself from now on, will be the answer to the question, wont it?"_

_As far as Harm was concerned, he was beginning to feel as though everything he'd done over the last month had been pointless._

_For the Admiral, the biggest test of all was the Commander's trip to Russia, until he came back from Russia without having caused an international incident or landed himself in hot water with the SecNav, he wouldn't be off the hook._

"_You're dismissed Commander."_

_The Admiral caught a glimmer of Harm's true feelings about the whole matter, in his eyes as he turned to leave after his salute._

"_Commander." The Admiral rose and walked swiftly up to him._

_Harm had turned and was facing him. "Sir?"_

_The Admiral stood as closely to Harm as his folded arms across his chest would allow. He lowered his voice and the fire in his eyes became a hard gleam._

"_Just so that we understand each other, I meant what I said earlier, you have progressed very well, as ordered. However, if you think I'll let up on your ass until the last moment I hold this office you have another think coming…do you read me Commander?"_

"_Yes, Sir"_

"_You have taken advantage of a chance for redemption, Commander, see that you continue on that course."_

"_Yes sir."_

"_Carry on, then."_

"_Yes, sir."_

_Harm returned to his office with the word 'redemption' staying with him. He had just spoken to his client PO Petit about the meaning of the word, it meant he still had a chance to make things rights for himself and his future. He was also remembering something the petty officer had said to him. When Harm had asked him directly what he had been thinking when he wore a Bronze Star that he hadn't earned, he answered his question with the question, _

"_Didn't you ever want your father to be proud of you?" _

One of his best memories of childhood was hearing the pride in his fathers voice when he spoke about him in letter tapes to his mother, though he was only 5 years old. Later, after he was listed as MIA, the sound of love and pride in his father's voice was the only thing that gave him hope.

Would his father be proud of the choices he'd made? 

Zhukov Farm

Russia

June 1980

Harmon was finishing the last of the small tasks that Pitchta's brother, Mikhail Zhukov, had given him. He still wasn't strong enough to equal Mikhail's work load, but he was making a definite contribution. His strength was improving, almost daily. The ability to be outside, to feel the sun on his shoulders had been as good for him as any medicine.

His progress in the beginning had been haltingly slow, but as he and Pitchta got to know each other, their communication had improved and he began to progress more quickly. She had been very protective of him in the beginning, but he had insisted on pushing himself. 

Even though they did know each other better, Pitchta was still a mystery to Harmon, and not just because of culture and language. He would sense an unease in her when he appeared at the doorway of the little house, unexpected. There were times Harmon was sure that she was afraid of him. Then at other times, if he stumbled slightly she would fly to him, before he'd even had a chance to right himself. 

He thought it might help to move into the barn when he'd recovered enough, though Pitchta protested, he thought it would be best for all concerned.

It had been a good decision, Pitchta's uneasiness with him was eventually non-existent. The arrangement had other benefits, as well. Being in his own space provided a solitude he hadn't experienced in a very long time. Working here, being out of doors, having three meals a day and a warm and dry place to sleep had been paradise when compared to his existence in the gulags. It was amazing, that in all the years he'd been here, he'd never seen anything so beautiful. To him, Russia had been the gulags, the biting cold and the dark mines, in which he'd worked. The green of the fields, the blue of this sky, never existed anywhere but in his memories of his own home in Pennsylvania. 

He turned and looked over the fields of the small farm. The fields were full of newly sprouting wheat, blowing in the ever cooling breeze of the late afternoon. He leaned against the small wooden gate of the barn and thought of his son. He'd been imagining seeing his little son playing there in the wheat, almost all day. Little Harm was laughing, walking along, and asking questions and he'd always done. If he had calculated the days properly, his son would turn 17 soon. Although the pictures that Parlovsky had shown him had been painful to see, he was glad he'd been given a glimpse of the young man his son was becoming. He wasn't little Harm anymore, though, he thought sadly.

He had wondered, in the past, about whether his son would go to the Academy. His feelings would run from adamantly opposing the idea, to knowing that his son would probably do just that. Now that he had seen his son, and learned about his efforts to find him, even at 16 years of age, there wasn't a lot of doubt in his mind anymore. His son would go, as soon as he graduated from high school. He'd been fearless as a child, loving the roller coaster at the amusement park on Mission Avenue the way most kids his age loved riding a tricycle. 

On his very first ride, he sat between him and his mother, Trish had to hold him down to keep him from trying to stand up as the coaster climbed and then plunged down to its lowest point. Little Harm had thrown back his head and laughed out loud. It was a sound of pure joy that Harmon could still hear, as he thought of it. He would never forget their last visit to the amusement park, just before his last deployment.

Harmon mentally shook the memories that had begun as comfort, they were becoming too painful. As he made his way to the little farm house where Pitchta waited in the doorway, with her arms folded in front of her chest, like a mother waiting for a wayward boy, he thought again about his son. About what a good boy he was, how much fun he'd had just being with him, answering his questions, watching him grow. He'd missed nearly all of his childhood and he might never know his son, as a man, but still, in spite of it all, deep down he felt a keen sense of him. A connection that he hoped the little boy would feel too. 

At that moment he felt an intense sense of pain and pride. Pride in being little Harm's father, where ever he was now, no matter what his son decided to do. And pain, that he was not a part of his life, and might not ever be.

Wednesday

June, 22, 2003

At an undisclosed location in Russia

Siddy Lenegro entered the nondescript warehouse as he'd been directed. 

Inside the cavernous old building had been stripped of almost everything but a table at the center of the room and a few chairs scattered around it. Near the table stood Mark Sokol, along with a beautiful young woman that Siddy immediately recognized as his stewardess on his flight to Moscow.

When he reached the table, he didn't ask any questions, though his recognition of the stewardess left him ill at ease. There were no introductions, Sokol went directly into the task at hand.

"We've got less than two weeks before Rabb arrives in Russia. We have to accomplish our mission without discovery from the American State department or their CIA. This plan has to go like clockwork. No screw ups, do you understand, Lenegro?"

"Yeah…sure." Lenegro still felt as though he was getting into this mission way over his head, but there was no choice now, but to go forward.

Sokol looked to the woman seated at the opposite side of the table.

"You can handle Zhukov?"

She sent him a furtive smile. "But of course, Sokol. Do you doubt me?"

Sokol's steady and serious gaze told her he was in no mood to be playful.

He looked down at the table, with its maps of Svischevo and of Moscow, with its black and white pictures of the long forgotten, Prisoner 394652 and of Commander Harmon Rabb Junior, in uniform and in civilian clothing There were pictures of Sergei Zhukov and of Captain Yuri Volkanov.

"Lets get started."

A plan was coming together that would bring resolution to the matter of Harmon Rabb Senior and the rogue operation that brought him to Russia, all those years ago. Though as yet…. it was unclear whom the resolution would benefit. On one hand, the Russian government could bury, once and for all, a secret that could destroy all it had accomplished since the Cold War. Or, an American family torn apart by the officially undisclosed circumstances of the Vietnam War, would finally close a terrible chapter in its history, come together and move on.

Sokol left the building last, after everyone was sure of their assignments, in this mission. As he walked, he felt the weight of all that would have to take place, upon him. When he met Commander Rabb and Sarah MacKenzie, all those years ago, he was a different person than the man he was today. All that he had witnessed over the past 8 years had changed his view of his life and of his mission. This was a task he looked upon with trepidation, not for the acts themselves, but for the people that they involved. Mark Sokol had a grudging respect for Rabb, after all, he'd prevented the possible assassination of their president. But, in the end, he was not being paid to consider these facts, he had to complete his mission. He had to contain this mess that Parlovsky left him. He was only grateful that Sarah was not accompanying Rabb to Russia, this time. 

It was time to put an end to this recurring nightmare.

Once and for all.

0848

June 20, 2003

JAG Headquarters

Conference Room

The Admiral and his staff had were just finishing up Staff Call when Tiner slipped into the wooden double doors.

"Sorry to interrupt, sir. But there are some people to see you."

The Admiral frowned at him over his reading glasses. "See them to my officer Tiner. We're almost finished here." He was irritated, Tiner knew better, even the SecNav could have waited a few minutes. He returned his attention to the case file in front of him.

Before the double doors of the conference room closed, Alberto heard his grandfather's voice carry into the hallway. "Pa!"

This was as close as 11-month-old Alberto could get to 'grandpa.'

The Admiral raised his head and slowly removed his glasses. He knew that voice. He started to say his grandson's name then checked himself, clearing his throat. It was too late though, everyone at the conference table saw the moment of undisguised emotion on his face.

Mac and Harm were seated across the conference room table from each other. They looked at each other and then each turned toward the Admiral with curious smiles on their faces.

The Admiral did not look directly at any of them. "You've got your assignments people. You're dismissed."

He stood and directed his attention to Tiner again. "Direct my daughter to my office. I'll be there in a moment."

The Admiral went swiftly toward the door. "If, uh, anyone has any questions or concerns, see Mac, Colonel Mackenzie."

Harm, Mac and the rest of the staff, still stood at the conference table, pleasantly surprised, at the suddenly distracted Admiral.

He pulled the doors open and nearly flew down the hall toward his office.

Tiner hadn't even had time to direct his family to his office. As soon as the Admiral came into view, a chorus of "Papa! "Pa!" and AJ!" spoken all at once, greeted him. Alberto was instantly in his arms, as he was enclosed in the circle of his own family.

Harm, Mac and the rest of the staff were almost transfixed watching the scene unfold. Mac thought that she'd never seen the Admiral so happy. The moment was so sweet that she felt tears sting her eyes.

Harm leaned toward Mac and whispered, "Three guesses who the Admirals grandson looks like."

Bud had overheard Harm's comment and added, "Yeah, right down to the ears….wonder if they glow in the sunlight…like the Admirals?"

At that they all stifled laughter, and quickly dispersed to their respective offices.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

_Wings of the Morning_

_Chapter 12_

_Disclaimers: As previously stated._

_1630_

_June 22, 2003_

_Commander Vera McCool's office_

_National Naval Medical Center_

_Bethesda, Maryland_

_Mac was settled comfortably in the chair in front of Commander McCool's desk. _

"_We haven't talked about the Commander very much, have we?"_

_She'd escaped discussing him in their last session. Hoping against hope that Commander McCool would just let it go. She didn't want to dissect their relationship, she was feeling good today. The Admiral's happiness in reuniting with his family, earlier in the week, seemed to have permeated the whole office. She just wanted to focus on that kind of feeling._

"_No…just the basics…we've been friends a long time…and now…we're…"_

_Commander McCool waited, her expression expectant._

"_Happy….really really happy."_

"_That's obvious. The subject of 'Harm' has been one of the very few subjects that results in this" McCool gestured at Mac's smiling face.. "Consistently."_

"_Do you think he is someone who may be a permanent part of your life?"_

_She nodded, but then to her counselor's surprise, became introspective. She definitely wanted him in her life, always…but the thought of discussing anything 'permanent,' as before, made her want to change the subject._

"_Colonel?"_

"_Oh, yes, of course…I do." She refocused her attention on her counselor._

"_But?"_

"_There is no 'but.' We're together, finally, we're happy…finally. I just want things to be this way for awhile…with no complications." The edge in Mac's voice was obvious to Commander McCool's trained ear._

"_You have used the word 'finally' twice, was there a long wait for this relationship to begin?"_

_Mac laughed softly and nodded "You could say that…about 8 years. We were always close, but we never…crossed the line, you know? There were always complications…in both of our lives. It seemed we both wanted more than friendship….just never at the same time"_

_Mac's response had given way to yet another thoughtful expression. She knew there was no way to avoid this now, the sooner they discussed Harm, the sooner she was finished with counseling, she hoped, once and for all. She supposed it was a good question. Why had she avoided this subject? He had made her happy, hadn't he?_

"_Has he made it clear how he feels about you, now?'_

_Mac's cheeks warmed and she suddenly felt uncomfortable. Of all the things they'd talked about, this seemed the most personal._

"_Yes."_

'_Have you always known?"_

"_Known…. What?"_

"_Known how he feels about you, about a relationship, beyond friendship, with you." This was a new development, the Commander thought, as she pondered why this subject was suddenly so irritating to her patient._

_Mac's expression became closed, and guarded, she avoided her counselors eyes. "No…not always." She put that time behind her and continued, "But that was a long time ago…and we were only friends for quite some time, so I didn't have any right to expect…"_

_The commander rested her folded arms on her desk. "Expect?"_

_Mac was about to become exasperated with her counselor's questions and at her own reaction to them. "Look, we were friends…more than friends, connected somehow, but not…really involved. We were different people then…. That's what I meant when I said we wanted more…but we never could seem to want the same thing at the same….time."_

_Commander McCool considered her answer. "You say that there is no one else for you but you seem to be very uncomfortable with any mention of a permanent relationship."_

"_I'm not uncomfortable…I just don't want to ruin anything. He loves me, I know it, I love him, that's enough." Her tone was clipped and impatient._

"_And…why do you feel the need to defend yourself? I merely want to know why the thought of a permanent relationship with someone you obviously love and admire, makes you so obviously uncomfortable. You seem very happy with him, why would making the relationship permanent ruin it?"_

_Mac was silent for a moment and while she considered her answer, Commander McCool continued. _

"_I'm not saying you have jump into marriage right away. As long as you both agree about the status of your relationship, why not enjoy what you have?"_

_Commander McCool waited a moment for Mac to answer and when she did not she continued. "It appears, Colonel Mackenzie that something about this relationship is causing you some sort of anxiety."_

"_I don't know." Mac sat back in her seat and folded her arms in front of her. She shook her head slightly and continued, "I don't think that's it, I just don't want anything to change between us now…its wonderful but…then...and I know, this makes no sense at all, I'm not ready for marriage…yet. But, I worry that when I am….he won't be. We have a history of missing signals, up until a couple of months ago."_

"_Have you discussed this at all?"_

"_Yes, early on…we both agreed that our lives were too complicated now to discuss it…that all that was important was that we were together and that we loved each other."_

"_Do you agree?"_

"_Yes." Mac sat with her arms folded in front of her, her eyes fixed on the window and the cityscape beyond it._

"_But?"_

"_I don't know." She shrugged her shoulders, then looked at the commander. "Maybe I 'm afraid it will all fall apart and I will not only lose a boyfriend…but my closest friend. I don't have a very good track record, as I've told you, with long term relationships. I can bear the past, but I don't know if I could bear, losing….Harm."_

"_Are you afraid he will leave you?"_

"_No."_

_Her counselor frowned. "Then…why the fear? What is it about him that makes you believe you will, as you say, lose him?"_

_Mac contemplated the Commander's question for a long moment._

"_Our lives are… complicated, our work can place us in dangerous situations….I" Mac paused for a moment, trying to find the right words to express her feelings. Feelings that she was just beginning to scratch the surface of._

_Her counselor waited, giving her time to finish her thought._

"_I think that once things are calmer…more back to normal, for both of us, then…"_

_Commander McCool looked at her directly, "Back to …normal? What would be 'normal' for you and Harm?"_

"_I don't know…after I'm finished with my counseling, he has had some issues with his health as well, he'll be traveling to Russia in less than two weeks. There are just too many complications now to start talking about marriage, a wedding…our wedding. I just think our lives should be more settled."_

_Mac was silent for a moment then shook her head, "I really didn't expect to go…..here."_

"_Here' being, discussing a commitment to Harm?"_

"_It's not that, maybe I just didn't think it would be so hard to explain."_

"_Tell me about him. What do you admire….about Harm?"_

_She began to think of the things that had attracted her to him in the first place. "Harm is….so many things..to me. The obvious, he handsome, a gentleman. He treated me with a lot of respect, from the very beginning. He's fearless…honorable, the truth is very important to him, in any situation."_

"_He sounds like a very good man, so far. Handsome doesn't hurt._

_Mac smiled. "Not at all… and he is a good man…but…he can be led…by the way he feels, his emotions...that honor, that fearlessness…can make him reckless."_

"_Reckless…with his life?"_

"_Sometimes…he is very loyal, to family, to friends…to."_

"_You?"_

"_Yes." Mac folded her hands on her lap and pressed her lips into a thin line. "It makes no sense, the things that make me respect and love him, are also the things that make me…"_

"_Afraid to commit to him completely."_

_Mac looked up at her counselor, struck by what she had said._

_Commander McCool looked over her notes on her yellow legal pad. "Your feelings about Harm, loving and not loving the same things about your partner, are pretty common, especially for couples who have been together for a long time. While your deeper relationship is new, what you know and understand about each other is not."_

"_And that's a good thing?"_

"_Its can be."_

"_So…you're saying that Harm is a good….risk?"_

_Commander McCool smiled. "Funny that you used the word, 'risk'. That's what your commitment to Harm is, a risk, and only you, Colonel, can answer that question."_

_June 23, 2003_

_0630_

_Harm's apartment_

_Harm had been trying to reach Captain Alex Volkanov for over a week. He would be leaving for Russia in less than two weeks and he needed to touch base with the Captain, to try to enlist his help with the arrangements he would have to make for Sergei's wedding and the pre and post wedding gatherings._

_Finally, he'd gotten through. "How are you Alex?"_

"_Commander Harmon Rabb…to what do I owe the pleasure of this telephone call?"_

"_I'm going to need your help."_

"_Have you lost your brother again, Commander?"_

'_No...no nothing like that. As a matter of fact, I'm going to serve as his witness when he is married, in a couple of weeks…"_

"_Then you have a lot to arrange."_

"_That's it…and I won't have anyone with me who knows the language."_

"_Colonel Mackenzie won't be with you? I thought she followed you everywhere?"_

_Harm chuckled, remembering when Alex had made that comment the first time. "Not this time, though she did want to attend, but the Admiral couldn't spare her."_

'_I see." Alex wouldn't be surprised, however, if the Colonel appeared, unannounced, from thin air. "How can I help you?"_

"_I need to arrange a car for the bride and groom, to take them to ZAGS."_

"_Of course, to the registry."_

"_Yes...and I have to arrange a gathering before and after the wedding…so I'll need to arrange food…"_

"_And drink…you must have plenty to drink."_

_He smiled, "Yes, that too."_

"_I would be happy to, my friend. I am honored to be included in this happy occasion. We will see that Sergei is married in the proper Russian way."_

"_Thanks Alex…and I'll need help with the toast. I can't be insulting Sergei's new in-laws."_

"_Of course."_

"_I'll be in touch then…and thanks again, Alex."_

_They ended the call, as Mac came into the room. She had just showered and came into the kitchen for her first cup of coffee. She was wearing his robe…again._

"_Good morning" She smiled up at him, her face flawless, even without make up._

"_Good morning…taking over my robe Mackenzie?" He hooked his finger into the terrycloth lapel._

"_No…it was hanging on the hook in your bathroom…you weren't wearing it."_

"_It looks better on you anyway." He took the coffee mug from her hands and wrapped her in a close in embrace. _

"_Hey…I need that." She reached around him, trying to retrieve her cup._

"_Don't tell me, I'm losing out to a mug of coffee." He released her and placed his hand on his heart. "I'm crushed."_

"_You're not losing out to coffee….I just had a lot of trouble falling asleep last night."_

"_If you remember…I tried to help you with that."_

_He really had tried and she thoroughly enjoyed it, but his lovemaking only left her even more thoughtful about her own feelings for him._

_Harm leaned in close and leveled his eyes at her. Mac could not keep from laughing softly at his knowing look. "You did, I just had a lot on my mind."_

"_Anything you can talk about with me? I know you can't talk about any of the cases you preside over"._

"_Its not a case." She averted her eyes from him. "I'm okay Harm."_

_Harm nodded and poured himself a cup of coffee, not willing to press the issue. He had a suspicion that it wasn't about a case. She was always introspective after she had a session with Commander McCool, but this time she seemed more so than ever. She'd become even quieter when he told her his news about his counseling. _

_Mac lifted the coffee cup to her lips and looked again at Harm, he was worried, she knew. He knew her too well, but she wasn't ready to talk about her last session. This involved him and their relationship was too important to her to do or say the wrong thing. Not after all they'd both been through._

_Her own coffee forgotten she took his away this time and slipped back into his arms. She placed her head on his chest, pulling him in tightly. She wanted to reassure him as much as she could without getting into details she wasn't sure she could explain herself. _

_The news Harm had related last night hadn't helped. He had told her that his visits with his counselor had been bumped back to every other week and that he thought he might be released soon. She felt happy for him, but then at the same time, she resented it. All this self examination was exhausting, she wanted to be done with it. After all, she wasn't the one who left JAG, he had. It just didn't seem fair to her._

"_Mac….are you sure you're okay….with me, I mean." _

_She looked up at him, and seeing his expression, full of love and concern, immediately felt like a jerk for letting him see this side of her._

"_I'm fine…" She hugged him close to her, once again. "I always feel exhausted after one of my counseling sessions. I'd rather run 5 miles in full gear." She battled back the niggling feeling of jealousy toward him, knowing that he had no control over how long her therapist wanted to see her._

"_Me too….but… as far as running goes….I could still out run you." Harm broke free from her, trying to avoid what he knew was coming._

_Mac caught him with a good-natured jab to his stomach. He tightened his muscles and stepped quickly out of her reach. Lifting up his white T-shirt he grinned at her slyly._

"_Abs of steel, Mackenzie…you'll have to do better than that."_

"_Oh please! Confidence is important Sailor…but this?…" _

"_Just stating the facts, Mac. Can't help it if you're not up to the…challenge."_

_Harm turned on his heel and headed toward his bedroom and laughing with Mac close behind him. _

"_Okay, you asked for it."_

_This was just what Mac had needed. _

_Harm's laughter lifted her spirits and that good feeling followed her through out the rest of her day._

_June 24, 2003_

_8 a.m._

_Moscow time_

_Siddy Lenegro was startled by a ringing phone as he slept in his cramped and dank room. He lifted the receiver, knowing this could only be Sokol. _

"_Yeah."_

"_Siddy….just an update for you. Rabb has arranged to meeting with Captain Alex Volkanov when he arrives in Moscow. A dossier will be delivered to your hotel, today, that will tell you all you need to know about him."_

"_Yeah…okay." Siddy tried to sound and ready for anything, but hadn't quite pulled it off._

"_I don't want any screw ups, Lenegro. You don't make a move without a direct order from me." Siddy, acting on his own had helped create this mess. Sokol was not going to tolerate failure in this mission. A mission Siddy would never know the full scope of._

"_I got it…don't worry."_

"_Oh, I'm not worried Siddy. I'm not worried at all."_

_After Sokol ended the call he thought again about Prisoner 394652, Harmon Rabb Senior. A man who was long dead and meant to be forgotten. The problem was he would never be forgotten, he sons would see to that. Sokol shook his head in disgust, disgust at the rogue operation that began this mess, and what he was going to have to do clear it up._

_Russia_

_November, 1981_

_Pitchta looked out of the window at the heavy snow. She hugged her rough wool sweater more closely to her body, grateful for the warm fire in the hearth. It was late, her brother had already retired to his own bedroom, for the evening. She wanted something warm to drink before she went to bed. It was a good excuse to stay in their small common room that consisted of their kitchen, a fireplace hearth, and old table and chairs._

_She had dreaded the long winter to come, but it had brought an unintended benefit. Harmon had to move back into the main house, there wasn't sufficient heat in the small area that he'd made for himself in the barn._

_She turned to look at Harmon as he worked on a small radio. A radio that was in pieces spread over the top of the rough table. An oil lamp sat at its center. She watched as he carefully brushed each piece trying to put the radio back together. _

_Pitchta's brother had traded some tools for the old radio, years ago. It had been foolish, the radio had never worked. Nothing but static had ever come from the obviously broken radio. Her brother had long given up any thought of making it work._

_Harmon glanced up at Pitchta. He'd felt her studying him from across the room. He smiled at her slightly, seeing from her expression that she thought he was wasting his time. Maybe he was, but it didn't matter to him. At least now, he had something to occupy his mind through the winter. He returned his attention to his work._

_Summer had allowed him time out of doors. He was outside from dawn to dusk, the work was physically taxing but he liked working until he was completely exhausted. He would fall asleep as soon as he lay down, into a sleep so deep he didn't dream. Helping Pitchta's brother during this winter wouldn't have been enough to fill his day without the distraction of tinkering with this radio._

_Finding the radio that had been thrown into a wooden box with old farm tools was a godsend. It gave him a focus, a reason to wake up in the morning. To escape further, until he truly understood where the Zhukov farm was, would be futile. He hoped the radio would help him with that, once he got it to work._

_Harmon felt Pitchta's feather light touch on his arm and was pulled from his thoughts. She brought him a cup of sbiten, a tea made from cinnamon, cloves and honey. Harmon smiled at her and her face colored as she turned away from him to return to the stove to make her own cup of tea. _

_Harmon watched her walking away and felt a sense of guilt. He knew she loved him and he also knew that he could never return her feelings. He knew that someday he had to try and get back to his family, to what was left of it. Even though Trish had moved on, as he wanted her to, he had his son and his mother to return to, he still had a life, a life irreparably altered, but his own life. _

_His took a drink of the warm spiced drink and nodded toward Pitchta, thanking her. She blushed again, her eyes shining with affection. He warmed his hands with the cup and thought that it might be selfish of him, but he liked the fact that she cared for him, it made him feel less alone in this unfamiliar world. He remembered all the kindnesses she had shown him, from the very beginning. Her compassion for him had made the difference when his life hung in the balance._

_His thoughts must have shown on his face because Pitchta came to him and without a sound, turned his face up to her, leaned down, and kissed him. It was not a passionate kiss, it was a sweet kiss, tentative and chaste._

_Harmon was stunned by her gesture, but Pitchta was totally mortified by her own actions. She placed her hand over mouth and ran to the small room off of the kitchen that was her bedroom. She closed the door and leaned against it, shaking her head. Thinking what a fool she was, he couldn't love her, she knew it. He loved the one called 'Trish'. The name he called over and over again when he was delirious with fever. Even this knowledge failed to keep her from falling helplessly in love with him. Somehow his devotion to this woman only made her love him more. _

_She knew there was a difference in their ages, but it could not have been more than 10 years. Her cousins had married men much older than this man, and they weren't nearly as handsome._

_His eyes had drawn her in the first time she saw him. As she grew to know him, there was something about him, something in the way he carried himself. There was pride, but without arrogance that drew her eyes to him whenever she was near him. His deference to her, as a woman, though foreign to her, made her feel so special. When they walked together he always allowed her to enter the house first, sometimes opening the door for her. He would pull out her chair when they sat down to a meal together. The first time he'd done this, she hadn't known what he was doing. When he wasn't busy with a task her brother had given him, he would sometimes help her, silently taking over a task that he thought would be easier for him. _

_Since he had recovered and had begun to work the farm with her brother, his skin had taken on a healthy glow. His smile, though she didn't see it often enough, was heart stopping, his body was strong and handsomely formed. Her love for him had made him seem perfect for her in every way. She knew instinctively that he would never hurt her. She didn't fear him as she had other men. It was true her memories of her ordeal of the men who attacked her had haunted her, but Harmon had shown her how good men behaved._

_He was an honorable man, a man that any woman would love to have as her own._

_TBC_


End file.
